The Lighthouse Perspective
by Forfie
Summary: Vol. 2: Elder Lyons sees the possibility of re-creating the Columbia Commonwealth, but is this ambition ready to be shouldered by the Brotherhood Intelligence Operative Services? The BIOS will be starting their first missions as leaders and followers.
1. Fiat Lux

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the Fallout universe nor the intellectual property that surrounds the games, those released or not released.

The Lighthouse Perspective

Chapter 1: Fiat Lux

The fire burnt in an old dumpster in front of the former Alexandria Arms Hotel, it's new inhabitants simply referred to it as the Alexandria, the column of smoke billowing down wind. The noxious contents no one wanted to smell, as burning flesh and hair was unpleasant and difficult to remove from your mind. There had been several pyres like this one in the last week, however, those always had someone that collected the ashes and stored them for a memorial. This pyre, like several beforehand, were for those that no one claimed, they're ashes would be forgotten in the wind.

The on lookers returned to the Alexandria, breaking apart into their duties to return the former hotel to livable conditions. The lobby had already been taken care of, the bodies from the rafters had been removed and disposed of in the pyres along with those that had killed them. The concierge desk held a terminal to serve as a welcoming desk and, if the need arose, a defense position against invaders. The support columns had been reinforced. The top of the twin stairway now had a sandbag defense, again for when the need arose. It was a fortress, it was home, it was the headquarters for the Brotherhood Intelligence Operative Services.

Elias still had limp, granted a gunshot wound to the leg would do that, luckily enough it didn't break any bones. He was forced to hobble around, relying on an old crutch for support as he tried to keep weight off his leg in attempts to complete his new duties. It had been a week, but he was in for many months of recuperation. He made his way back to the servant quarters, one of the suites in the back hall had three bunk beds along with a shared bathroom. His bed was easy to spot because of the urn he kept on his bedside table of his departed wife. None of the other servants were present, they were occupied with their duties.

He turned his head to the doorway as he heard footfalls in the hallway, in his mid thirties he still had the hearing of teenager despite being middle aged for the Capital Wasteland. There was a knock on the door to the room, Elias asked the person to enter. LaCroix walked through through the doorway, she wore her combat armor but without a helmet. Her long dark hair was tied into a pony tail that hung behind her, the caked dirt and dust that had been on her skin was washed off to show her deep and dark complexion. She sat down in the chair next to Elias bed, her hand in her lap as she looked the man in the eyes with a sad smile.

"Will you pray with me today, Anna?" Asked Elias with a kind smile as he placed his crutch on the bed and took out a small scrap of rug as he unrolled it on the ground.

LaCroix got up and helped the man kneel onto his mat, "not today, Elias, I'll just watch."

"Ana fahim," said Elias in a language foreign to LaCroix, "maybe tomorrow."

In the cafeteria, most of the other operatives found themselves busy. It was a morning food break for them and the servants as the cleaning process continued. The multiple boxes of abraxo cleaner and detergent proved the most useful find when it came to cleaning the tile rubble. The cages were now moved outside of the building, along with the old dumpster, and the mailboxes. The tables were cleaned off and turned right side up, the chairs restored to their utilitarian purposes.

The right hallway off of the cafeteria had been opened. The former raider occupants had barricaded this wing of suites due to structural damage. Some of the extra timber and Schieber's handy ability allowed for several wall and roof bracers to be erected. This opened the right wing of suites for use, now with twelve useable rooms. The operatives were two to a room, with Newton and LaCroix as room mates due to their gender. The other parings were Zimm and Pop, J.R. and Schieber, and Alvarado with Roe. Knight Captain Galeas, along with Ban, Bors, and Star Paladin Bael all had their separate rooms.

Scribe Yearling had a room, but most of the week had been spent in Arlington Library looking for manuals on home repair. The two remaining rooms housed the knights from Arlington Library when they were off shift. Alexandria was a fort, home, and port in the stormy seas of the Capital Wasteland. There was still a lot of work that needed to be done to maintain the building and fortify it better. Elias, the appointed leader of the servants to Alexandria had been helping in that category.

The operatives sat with the servants among the many little tables, talking and exchanging food. The unease was clear, but both groups attempted civility because they knew their mutual survival depended on it. The food was simple fair, warmed meats with some starch. Roe turned the powdered mash potatoes over with his fork letting it plop onto his plate. He sat a table, the catatonic raider girl was with him. She had not fared better in a weeks time; however there was some improvement as she was able to eat on her own now. Granted it was at most four fork fulls and then staring through wall for the rest of the time. She had yet to say a word the whole week.

Roe knew she was trapped in her mind. If she wasn't able to get herself out of her state, then there would be nothing anyone could do. He could get her attention sometimes, but then her eyes would look past him and she'd be gone. Roe knew this raider would be his albatross if her state remained the same. _Perhaps shocking her system, like a scare of some kind,_ he thought as he played with his instamash, _no, that might make her worse...._

Zimm squeezed Roe's shoulder, "I say you take her to Grayditch and drop her there," he said, "or put a bullet in her and finish the job I started last week."

"That's a horrible thing to say," commented Roe, contemplating it himself.

"She did try taking my head off," Zach said as he bit some brahim jerky.

"More like knocking some sense into you," Roe repeated under his breath as he got up and helped the woman up and guided her to the servant quarters, "I'm taking her to sleep, maybe that will help."

"Certain won't have her complaining to much," laughed Zimm at the quip; Roe shook his head, _only Zimm can joke about someone in this condition, I couldn't stand to see family like this... but she's not family_.

J.R. was sitting with one of the servant women eating food. She was in her twenties, close to the age of J.R., and had short hair that was raven black. Her skin was tanned from the constant sun exposure, the areas around her eyes and nose were extra dried out. She now wore a faded zip up hoodie, cargo pants, which were tucked into calf high boots; less protection than raider armor, but more appealing to the eyes. He ate his food and made small talk.

"So what do they call you," he asked the cram was half in his mouth.

"My name is Kimi Mahal," she as she twirled her noodles.

"Family name?" Questioned J.R. in interest, "didn't realize raiders had families."

"I did till you killed them," she replied coldly looking him in the eyes.

He stared back, no emotion in his eyes, "I'm sorry."

There was a long silence before she addressed his originally question, "Mahal is not a family name."

"Then what is it," he said his interest still on his food.

"A name," she said hiding her smirk from him.

"Call me J.R.," he said.

"I rather not," she said as she got up and left, "I need to go back to cleaning."

"I won't stop you," J.R. commented as he continued to eat.

"Don't put a bullet in my back," she said as she walked away.

"I wouldn't want to waste the ammo," he said under his breath.

Ban and Bors were downstairs in the game room playing a game of pool. The two of them were out of their power armor and in simple brahmin skin overalls with a t-shirt. Ban was a toned dark man in his late thirties with a jagged scar across his jaw line and a shaved head. Bors, on the hand, was a thicker set white man with a full beard that was chestnut brown like his medium length hair that covered his ears. He swung his elbow like it was on a hinge and shot through the cue ball with a enough force to eject it from the table.

The cue ball stopped as it was caught by the foot of Knight Captain Galeas. Galeas wore similar brahmin coveralls with a shirt, her reddish brown hair was tied up. Her skin was porcelain, cheek bones pronounced, and of Asian descent. It was an oddity to see someone of Asian descent on the east coast since most people with bloodlines to Asia were rounded up in detention camps prior to the Great War. Some in the Brotherhood speculated her great great grand parents had been Chinese spies, detention camp survivors, or special agents for the USA. All Galeas knew was that her grandfather was in the Brotherhood of Steel, her father was in the Brotherhood of Steel, and now she upheld that familiar honor as well.

"Assemble the Operatives. Meet in an hour in the briefing room," she pointed behind her to the blackboards to remind them where the briefing room was now located.

"Yes, ma'am," they both said, laid the cues on the table and walked up stairs to tell the others.

Star Paladin Bael sat in his new office. The elevator had been out of commission, but a crowbar easily opened the doors. The cables were strong and still supported the car in side, the carpet wasn't worn, and there was ample lighting. It afforded him the ability to see the front door, and if need be, to close the metal doors of the elevator as panic room protection. He moved in one of the free large desks and a terminal.

He had finished his report on the take over and preliminary defenses of the Alexandria. He gave vague details that recalled the outcomes more than the means utilized to achieve them. Likewise, he also listed the names of new personnel along with needed inventory. What Bael failed to mention was the weapons cache that was discovered. His report was finished and sent to Scribe Jameson's terminal. He brought up a map of the Capital Wasteland examining it and righting down some notations on a clipboard with a pencil.

There was a knock at the door, Bael looked up to see one of the new servants at the door. She was the young one, barely out of her teen years. He looked at her and waved his hand, motioning her to come in. She walked in but did not sit at one of the chairs.

"Yes," said Bael, his voice gruff as he put down the pencil.

"Madame Galeas has asked for everyone to come to the meeting room," she said.

Bael stood up and smirked, "she would kill you if she heard you call her madame," the young servant didn't take the jest well and had a mortified look on her face; the Star Paladin looked at her and then realized his mistake, "perhaps not the best chosen words...forgive me. Knight Captain Galeas would not appreciate being referred to as madame. Just stick with Knight Captain or Galeas from now on."

The meeting room had multiple chairs for everyone to sit down. The operatives all wore their combat armor, while the Knights and Paladins were out of their power armor and donning brahmin coveralls. Three of the five servants were also in the room, until a nod form Yearling dismissed them to go back to their cleaning duties. Yearling wore her scribe robes, the maroon billowing as she walked. She turned to the chalk board that had a list of names and locations.

"It's been a week and we've continued to secure the area, it is time for us to fulfill our mission," she said as she wrote out three words on the board, "communicate, observe, report. That is our mission right now. Do not introduce yourself as a Brotherhood of Steel Operative, there are some out there that do not appreciate our organization and we are looking for intelligence, so use your own.

She turned to look out over the crew, "I do not want any heroics; just good, earnest, intel. There are several areas that need to be observed, but we can't hit them all at once. Likewise, you do not go solo. You are all a part of team, but when you go solo you will risk your life. You will back each other up, report to each other, and become well versed in your areas. You are not to stand out from the communities, you are to be a part of them, blend into them. Is that clear?

They all replied yes, Yearling continued on, "Pop, Alvarado, you are to go back to Grayditch. You know the area better than most, and have already talked with several people. Keep up those relations, talk with the locals, check with the immigrants there. Likewise, connect with the Brotherhood members there, get situation reports from them. Should be a walk in the park.

She turned to the next group, "Newton, I want you and Knight Ban to go to the Mall outpost, there has been word of a runaway slave settlement there. Find more information about them, their society, their intentions. A war between runaway slaves and slavers would not be a good thing to occur in the Mall outpost. Suit up with power armor, but don't use your name in that case, just let them know that the Brotherhood has heard about them.

She turned to the next assignment, "Operative Schieber and LaCroix, I'd like you to check back with Friendship Heights Settlement, see how they are doing. Before you head over, make your way to Project Purity, secure a brahmin and two fifty-five galleon drums of aqua pura. They'll be more welcoming with a gift, remind them who you are, just gain some information and work from there.

She handed them a aqua pura shipment request form to be given to Scribe Bigsley, "Bors, you will remain here for security along with Bael, there is still paper work that needs to be completed. Operatives Roe, Zimm, and J.R. you are to go over to Megaton; again just communicate, observe, report."

J.R. stood up and walked out the room, "fuck that, I'm not going to Megaton."

"Get back here, Operative," ordered Star Paladin Bael.

J.R. slammed the door and walked out of the room, Roe chased after him and caught him before he could climb the steps. Pulling him back by the shoulders. He looked him straight in the eyes.

"What the fuck was that," said Roe.

"Get your hands off of me," J.R. pushed Roe's arm away.

"Tell me what it is," Dan pressed further.

"Fuck Megaton," he replied, "I don't want to go back."

"Operative, what is your malfunction," ordered Bael as he stepped out of the meeting room, "get your ass back in there. Now!"

"Fuck," said J.R. as he looked at the stairs.

"We'll be there too," said Roe as he held J.R.'s shoulder and motioned with his head to get back in.

"Fuck Megaton," was all J.R. could say as he got up slowly to go back to the meeting room; he sat next to Roe as thoughts rushed through his head.

"What's the problem with Megaton," asked Roe from the corner of his mouth in a whisper as Yearling and Bael not went over weapon differences and maintenance.

"I was born there," replied J.R. in a seething whisper, "and ran away when I was thirteen because of father."

"What did he do," asked Roe.

"I don't want to talk about it," said J.R. with an empty look in his face, "I just can't go back there, where he is."

"What about your mother, doesn't she miss you?" Roe was concerned for the mental state of his colleague.

"She's dead," he said with a grim look on his face, "my father killed her, and got away with it."

Roe was speechless. The man he fought side by side with at two major battles he had to admit, he hardly knew. _Who the fuck are you, J.R._ he thought as looked over the empty face and eyes of the soldier next to him.

"Fuck Megaton," said J.R. with determination.


	2. Nine to Five

The Lighthouse Perspective

Chapter 2: Nine to Five

Schieber and LaCroix had made it to Project Purity within an hour, the path from Alexandria was easy to traverse. They talked with the scribe outside the loading area who directed them to the metal door to get inside. Schieber held the door open for LaCroix and followed her. Their power armor could be heard against the tiled floor as they walked down the hallway. They turned into the well lit main chamber to see several scribe sitting outside of a room with many books on their laps. One scribe was walking out of the side room that said gift shop, her hands were covering her face as she silently cried.

The others became visibly nervous. Schieber and LaCroix walked forward, the latter holding their hand to warn the scribes to remain sitting. They entered together into the room to see Scribe Bigsley have his back to the door. His hand was held to his mouth as the Operatives waited at the door. Schieber, losing his patience knocked on the door.

"What do you simpletons want now," asked Bigsley as he dropped a red and white inhaler on the desk as he sat down at his desk, not looking up.

"Pardon me, Scribe Bigsley," said Anna LaCroix in a metallic voice through the power helmet.

"Oh, well, out with it already, I don't have all day," said the insolent Scribe.

Schieber handed Bigsley the delivery request form, "I have to ask sir, are you fit to be working right now."

"Who the fuck do you think you are," asked Bigsley as he picked up a clipboard and threw it at the wall; Schieber pointed to the jet inhaler, "listen...Operative, there is a bed in the basement of this building that has not been been slept in for three weeks. Do you know why? I've been awake for those three weeks. I've been working non-stop, testing, paperwork, and shipping. I get no help from those...neophytes outside my door. Their incompetence makes me work more. So the next time you question my health or sanity...don't."

Schieber stepped back, his power helmet hiding his frown from being scolded; LaCroix pressed forward, "we'll collect our aqua pura and be on our way."

"One moment," Bigsley looked at the paper work and typed into his terminal, "oh right, that raider camp up north you lot conscripted to give me more work. They haven't had a water supply yet, bet they'll be happy to see you two. Hmmm, since you're heading that way..."

"Our orders are to get to Friendship Heights," said Schieber with his metallic voice.

"Look at it as making my work load easier and an apology for your brazen questions," commented Bigsley, "unless you two don't think you can handle a small delivery that's on the way north of the ruins."

"There are no other settlements until you get into the D.C. Ruins," thought Schieber outloud.

"That's true, but I have a private purchaser for a case of bottled water," said the Scribe, "which is highly profitable for me."

"Do they know the water is free," commented LaCroix.

"The water is free for settlements," corrected Bigsley, "this individual doesn't live in a settlement. He also pays a lot of caps for the water. Granted I don't think the man drinks the stuff, the alcohol is so pungent that I could distill whiskey from his presence."

"We'll make the delivery, just mark it on our map," LaCroix handed a paper map of the ruins to Bigsley.

Bigsley marked it on the map and handed it back along with a signed note, "the buyer's name is Dukov. Don't trust him farther than you can throw him, he's an ex-mercenary. The price is set at four hundred caps; no more, no less. If you short change me, I'll find out, and trust me I can be very inventive," Schieber and LaCroix headed out of the gift shop to the pack brahmins to get their water.

Operative Hannah Newton and Knight Ban did not have an easy arrival to the Mall outpost. Having to travel through the metro system meant dealing with radroaches and the occasional feral ghoul. Ban did most of the shooting, as he ran first into battle. Operative Newton always tried to line a sight on targets from a higher position, but Ban usually disposed of them quickly. They emerged from the metro tunnels to the mid-day sun and the overbearing symbol of the Washington Monument.

"Keep up," said Knight Ban said as he moved quickly to the monument.

Newton followed quickly as they walked over to the metal doors of the secured monument. There were two knights stationed outside of the front entrance. Both were heavy weapons specialists, one with a minigun, the other with a gatling laser. As they approached they hailed the other two Brotherhood members.

"How is the Mall today," asked Ban as he embraced one of the Knights.

"Quiet, seems our mutie friends are engrossed with a battle on the far side near the Capitol Building," said the knight through a metallic voice, "what brings you tourist here?"

"Sightseeing, we were thinking about the Lincoln Memorial," commented Ban.

"That place has been getting a lot of traffic," continued the other knight, "I'd like to go check it out myself, but we need reinforcements before we can do that."

"I'll tell you what the place is like," said Ban as he shouldered his laser rifle and motioned for Newton to do the same.

They began to walk around the monument to the reflecting pool. The radiation level from the stagnate pool of water could be felt a few feet away. The power armor protected Newton and Ban as they continued to walked along the road, dodging between the cars. The Lincoln Memorial was an impressive, imposing and large structure among the ruins. The white marble caught the sunlight, blinding the viewers at first look. The rubble around the memorial had been arranged for defense, sandbags and tires as well.

The two Brotherhood of Steel members began to walk forward up the central pathway. The cocking of bolts could be heard as two figures called attention to the upper stairs of the memorial. One was a woman with a half shaved head that were common with mercenaries wearing combat armor. The other guard was a man that had high spiked blonde hair, goatee, biker goggles and combat armor. They were positioned to cross fire against the Brotherhood, a good defensive position Ban noted.

"Halt," said the woman guard, "state your business."

"We're just here to introduce ourselves and say hello," said Newton as she looked at the woman guard, "the Brotherhood wants you to know that we know you're here."

"Well shoot," said the female guard, "you should talk with Hannibal. Just know, Brotherhood or not, if you act up we will take you down."

"Understood," replied Hannah as she walked forward.

"He's inside, follow me," said the woman, "Edwin, keep watch while I take them to Hannibal."

"Yes, Ms. Simone," replied the man at the front defense.

The female guard shook her head, as she commented to the Brotherhood members, "no matter how many times I tell that boy, don't call me miss," and lead them through a metal door under the memorial.

Passing through the hallway, they entered the main room that had a few little tables; sitting at one was a man in combat armor, stove pipe hat, and lever action rifle. He was black with a thick beard that rivaled Knight Bors. He smiled, his teeth were extra white, which seemed odd to Newton. Sitting around the table was another dark man with a scraggly goatee, bald head, leather armor and biker goggles.

"Good to meet you, friends," greeted the man in combat armor, "I'm Hannibal Hamlin, welcome."

"Thank you," said Hannah Newton as she reached out to shake the man's hand, "we're part of the Brotherhood of Steel."

"Clearly, not many other people have power armor at their disposal," said Hannibal still smiling, "so what can we do for you at the Temple of the Union?"

"Is that what you have renamed the Lincoln Memorial?" Asked Ban.

"We have never stripped the Great Emancipator from this site," replied Hannibal, "we embrace him fully, and welcome all those that were downtrodden to now be uplifted."

"So your settlement has been growing?" Edged in Newton.

"By the day, and night," beamed Hannibal, "our numbers have increased from the original five to a settlement of twenty-three. The journey is long and dangerous, but many find their way to us. Few have moved on, but most stay and appreciate the work of the Union. More hands allow for a better ability to search for food."

"Is food a major importance, or is it easy to find?" Asked Newton.

"I'm sorry, but why is the Brotherhood so interested," asked Hannibal, for the first time faltering.

"We're just trying to asses your settlement," replied Newton, "open communication ties, qualify needs, and potentially assist the settlement..."

"Best thing you can do is destroy Paradise Falls," said Simone as she leaned against the wall.

"That is not military feasible," replied Knight Ban, "their technology is advancing quickly and their settlement is superbly fortified. We've scouted them out for over twenty years."

"While abolishing slavery is our primary concern," said Hannibal, "we appreciate the attention from the Brotherhood. Pardon our weariness not to submit ourselves readily to Brotherhood oversight."

"Understood," said Newton, her voice metallic through the power helmet, "you have thrown off the yoke of servitude not readily replace it with another."

"Operative," warned Ban.

"But that is not what we are here for," continued Newton, "we can provide items to make life more bearable, like aqua pura."

"We would appreciate that," commented the other man at the table, "but some building materials would also be good."

"Building materials?" Questioned Newton.

"I'm a stone mason by trade," commented the man, "I've restored the memorial as best as I can, patching the holes with rocks from the yard. But with more stone we'd be able to build more stable housing for everyone besides tents."

"I'm not too certain what I can do, but I can ask around about that," admitted Newton, "I'd really like to see the restoration, if you don't mind?"

"It is the pride and joy of the Temple of the Union," said Hamlin as he stood up, shouldering his lever action rifle, "let us show you the Great Emancipator! Caleb, lead the way."

Lolli Pop and Juan Alvarado made their way to the settlement of Grayditch. The close proximity made it an easy journey as well, they made better time traveling then when they escorted the raider refugees. They stopped by Grandma Sparkle's place on Wilhelm's Wharf for some food. The Mirelurk cakes were some of the best tasting food in the Wasteland, especially with a cool beer. After an hour of talking with Sparkle and eating her food they finally walked through the northern entrance of the town.

There was one Brotherhood of Steel Knight at the entrance to greet them; the stark difference between them was noticeable because as the Knight was in power armor and the Operatives were in combat armor with jackets. The jackets were used to cover the symbol on the chest plate, as they were warned not to attract undue attention.

"Operatives," greeted the Knight, "how are you doing? Any more refugees for re-population?"

"Not today," answered Alvarado, "how's security been?"

"Just Jenson and I," replied the Knight as he cradled his laser rifle, "he's guarding the south eastern entrance today, don't have many issues here."

"What of the refugees from last week," asked Pop, "how are they handling the change."

The Knight gave a metallic chuckle, "funny you should mention it, they carved out a nice little section of town, named the street Alexandria. I think they're a little homesick, but I wouldn't visit them right away. A few have even decided to help on nightly patrols so Jenson and I can get some sleep, granted they mainly protect their own."

"What of the egg-head," Alvarado was referring the resident doctor.

"Never talk to the guy, gives me the creeps," said the Knight, "I think Scribe Mendel knows the guy better, they should both been in that shack on the lot there."

"Thanks," they both said and headed into town; instead of going directly to the doctor's residence they made their way to Dot's Dinner. Pop and Alvarado sat down at the counter and ordered two nuka colas. The woman gave them ice cold nuka colas from her vending machine. They sat back against the counter and listened to conversation within the dinner.

The booths were all occupied with several of the new residents between their hard day's work of survival. Three men in brahmin skin coveralls were discussing the best way to utilize brahmin manure for vegetable growth in the converted play ground. The growth of subsistence farming was mainly due to the exportation of potable water, along with some released seeds from Rivet City's hydroponic experiments. The soil was clearly not ideal, yet, but with several years of limited plant growth, the biomass compost would prove to be a good hummus for exceedingly larger yields.

In another booth were two young boys, no older than eleven and thirteen, and an older woman that was their guardian. The boys had sad expressions on their face while their guardian tried to cheer them up with a soft drink. Failing, the woman herself slowly began slipping into a melancholic state.

"Shame about the Brandices," commented the woman behind the counter, Juan and Lolli turned around to look at her; she was a little under five feet four inches tall, her hair was covered in a head wrap, the dirt on her skin hid the winkles of age and experience, "it's hard not looking at the Brandices, Sheila tries hard to cheer those boys up. But there is only so much you can do when you loose a father."

"What happened to him," asked Pop as he sipped his nuka cola.

The proprietor wiped her counter top, smudging it worse then before, "well, William Brandice was here when the town was under attack by those pesky ants of Lesko. I don't know why that crazy doctor is still here, should have been run out of town. Anyway, when the Brotherhood checked out the tunnels to make certain that all those little flamethrowers were dead, they found the body of William Brandice. He apparently sent his family away to Megaton, where they were refugees. Tried killing all of the ants himself. Man died a hero, but it took the Lone Wanderer to finish the job."

"We heard about the Lone Wanderer's action out here," said Alvarado, "so this Brandice guy went down there to kill ants?"

"Well, the meat is good," said the owner of Dot's Dinner, "and sells well. So it was a mixture of survival and extermination from what I hear. But in the end, the fire ants got him like ol' Mayor Wilks."

"Mayor Wilks?" Questioned Pop in confusion, "there was a mayor?"

"Well, from what I gather, he wasn't really a mayor," she said, "just a title given to him after death, you know. But Fred Wilks was here when the fire ants attacked, his son Bryan got the Lone Wanderer to come and free the town."

"Is Bryan still here?" Alvarado pushed a few caps forward and was rewarded with another nuka cola.

"Sure as hell not," she said, "moved in with family from what I heard, back in Rivet City."

"You sure do know a lot," commented Pop, she turned an ice cold stare in his direction.

"Small town, people talk," she continued, "especially about Brotherhood members trying not to be known as Brotherhood."

Alvarado slide more caps to her for a tip, "for your troubles, ma'am," he said as he stood up and left the empty nuka cola bottle.

"Name's Cathy," said the proprietor, "and y'all have a good day, you hear."

They nodded and walked out of the dinner onto the main street again. Both decided it was time to pay the good doctor Lesko a visit. So they headed to the lot with the constructed shed on it. Pop knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Alvarado pushed him out of the way and asked him to guard the way as he picked the lock. The door was quickly opened with a screw driver and bobby pin allowing the Operatives to enter.

The journey for Operatives Daniel Roe, Zachary Zimm, and J.R. was a lot more arduous. They had no set paths to walk after they reached the Super Duper Mart. Likewise, they constantly shifting top soil, dust, and sand constantly hit their face. Roe and J.R. both having been on the caravan trails packed some swaths of cloth that they wrapped around their heads and mouths for protection. Zimm on the other hand did not know to pack such and item and was forced to create one from the clothes of a dead wastelander on the way. The smell of decomposed flesh still stuck to the cloth, the sun had baked it in, but it was better than tasting grit and being exposed to the harsh sun.

All three also had some type of over coat as well, it allowed for the concealing of their pistols and Brotherhood insignia. The ability to have extra pockets was beneficial to allow them to carry more. Roe and J.R. had their assault rifles on their backs, while Zimm kept his sub-machine gun holstered to his hip. The continued to follow the map, their eyes the only part of their face visible as they continued walking to Megaton. When they saw the sign after mid-day they knew they were close to the fortified walls of the old city.

Towering the landscape like a man made mouth, Megaton was an astonishing sight for the wasteland. The protected gates were guarded by the protectron Deputy Weld and the sharp shooter, Stockholm. An automated greeting met everyone as they stepped through the gates into the crater city. Zimm let out a whistle as he saw the houses stacked onto of each other and the water pipes intersecting through every construction. J.R. pointed to the first house to the right.

"That's Lucas Simms' place," nodding to the two story shack, "self-proclaimed sheriff an mayor. He's an okay man, and someone who always knows what's up in town."

"Let's time him first," suggested Zimm as they headed over that way.

Roe and Zimm undid their head coverings, J.R. decided to keep his on. Roe knocked on the door. There was no answer, even after waiting ten minutes. Roe turned J.R., not saying anything but the silence holding the obvious question: where is this guy?

"Might be serving the duty of Megaton," said J.R. with contempt, "probably at Moriarty's."

"That's where we should go," said Roe waiting for J.R. to point in the right direction.

"Not right now," countered J.R., "we should try the Brass Lantern first. The Stahls are the largest family in Megaton, last time I checked."

"So they control a lot of everything," hypothesized Zimm.

"Not really," countered J.R., "but they don't charge for information."

They walked down to the center of town where the atomic bomb sat. Zimm was shocked to see it, but Roe and J.R. assured it was safe, relatively. There were rumors that the Lone Wanderer had disarmed it, but the preacher in the irradiated pool claimed that the Lone Wanderer could not interrupt the glorious Division that awaited the believers. Roe and Zimm also noticed when they walked down a man with long white hair and a goatee was leaning over a balcony surveying the town below like he personally owned it. Next to him stood a bald man clad in leather that did not hide his beer belly, with a Chinese assault rifle on his back. J.R. turned and sat at the counter, the others joined him.

The woman that was serving had long brown hair that flowed around her red racer jumpsuit, "what'll it be, boys?"

"Good to see you too, Jenny," said J.R. as he looked into her eyes.

It took her a few seconds before she placed where that voice came from, "oh my! It's been a long time. I'm surprised you'd come back. All of you come inside, come in. Come in."

The Operatives stood up and walked into the Brass Lantern as Jenny Stahl sat them at a table. The first thing that all three noticed was the mercenary standing near the door. Jenny came back from around the counter with a few beers, including one for her self.

After a long gulp she turned to J.R., who slowly removed his face wrap, "what the fuck are you doing back here?!"

"I'm asking myself the same thing," he replied and as he pointed to the mercenary, "what's with the merc?"

"We need him for protection these days," Jenny said with a frown, "things have gotten bad."

A man from the back room entered dinning area of the Brass Lantern, he was wearing a leather vest with a white shirt and his hair was messy; he looked at the Brotherhood of Steel Operatives, his eyes fixed on J.R.'s, "get the fuck out! I don't need your kind here."

"Nice to see you too, Andy," commented J.R. as he drank his beer.

Andy Stahl turned to the mercenary, "what the fuck do I even pay you for?"

The mercenary shrugged, "they didn't make a hostile move and your sister invited them."

"Fuck, Jenny, you're asking for trouble," said Andy, "inviting him in, and them, they must all be trouble."

"Shit, Andy, calm yourself, I've never seen you like this," she said.

"Listen, we just want to know what happened to Simms," said Roe trying to head off a large argument.

"Simms is dead," replied Jenny, "he was shot in the back."

"Who did it," asked J.R. as he laid his pistol on table.

"You damn well know," replied Andy as he stormed off.

"No one really knows," said Jenny with a shake of her head, "it was in Moriarty's, people have speculated a few things, but what is known was that a silenced weapon was used."

"Who the fuck shoots an honorable man in the back," said J.R. as he holstered his pistol.

"I guess we're going to have to find out," commented Roe as he finished his beer.

Back at the Alexandria, the servants were having a meeting in their quarters. Kimi had called them together as Elias could not risk his health to run around and tell them all. All five were in the room now, though the catatonic raider that was in bed was not really present. Elias still cared for her when Roe was not present, using a cool compress on her head. He turned to the others now.

"I understand there have been some issues with our guests," he said calmly.

"Guests? They're invaders," said Kimi, "they killed and entered, took our land..."

"And you chose subjugation over relocation," finished Elias, "your time for complaints, Kimi, are moot because of your choice."

"I just wish we have more say," said the woman that was similar in age Elias.

"And we can," he continued, "by ingratiating ourselves to their needs and cause. We'll be friendly up until a point to serve our own interests. They know this place will not be able to function without caretakers. And we are the Caretakers."

"One of them threatened me with murder," said the younger girl.

"Who did that," asked Elias, his face deathly serious, "I will bring it up to them."

"It was the older scary one," she said referring to Star Paladin Bael, "he apologized but I didn't understand what he meant. I was only informing him about the one called Galeas."

"I will discuss that matter with him, do not fear," he said as he rubbed her shoulder reassuringly, "to make this work, we need to have open communication with our guests. They must learn to respect and honor us just as much as we need to respect them as guests."

"Elias, this is intolerable!" Said Kimi earnestly, "treat them as guests in our own house? They storm in here and fill our hallways with blood. We just finished burning the last remains of those that truly lived here."

"Kimi, we contributed to the pyres with the wastelanders we captured and killed," he said, "now is the time for us to turn around from our violent ways. Now is the time to build our future on merit and hard work, not sadism and hedonism."

"What future, Elias?" She said, "you certainly have none as your wife is dead."

The man raised his hand readying to hit her for the comment but stopped himself, ashamed of what he was about to do, "Kimi, do you not see that it is always better to have a future than not have one at all?"

"I'm sorry, Elias, but I can not accept these occupiers as legitimate," she finished.

"I beseech you, Kimi, do not work to overthrow them," he pleaded, "or else you will wind up a collection of ash."

"We'll see, Elias," she said and walked out of the quarters as the others stayed, showing their support for the male leader.

Based on the map marker that Scribe Bigsley had denoted, Schieber and LaCroix were close to Dukov's place. They saw the erected wooden walls and knew right away there was going to be trouble. They told the caravan drive to slow the pack brahmin. Schieber asked LaCroix for cover as he proceeded forward. He held his assault rifle at the ready as he turned to the entrance of the makeshift raider camp.

The three raiders turned to see Quinn Schieber in his shining power armor with his gun raised. Instantly, they all drew theirs and pointed them at him. The lower caliber weapons did not frighten the power armor clad Operative, however, if he could avoid killing he would.

"Drop your weapons," he ordered to the raiders in his metallic voice.

LaCroix ran forward when she heard Schieber talk, her presence made the raiders nervous and one opened fire. Schieber and LaCroix reacted by putting rounds into the bodies of the three raiders, their armor was no protection against 5.56 ammo as it cut through them. After the bodies fell, LaCroix and Schieber walked forward and kicked the weapons from their grasp in standard operations procedure. LaCroix walked out as Schieber collected items for the pack brahmin to approach.

"You two all right?" Asked the caravan driver.

"Yea, but we got some more gear, preferably for trade up at Friendship Heights." Schieber tied a sack to the pack brahmin, "c'mon we're almost there."

They continued walking till they came to see a multiple story building that had defenses built around it. A few yards away were there was a fire in the road from a still burning car. LaCroix motioned for caravan to halt and Schieber to cover as she walked forward to the fire to check it out. A minute later she waved Schieber over.

As he walked over, the air filters in his power armor picked up the scent of burning human flesh. It reminded him to check his seals later and possibly rework the filtration system. He stood next to LaCroix and saw the two Enclave soldiers burning next to an exploded car. He leaned down and checked for vitals, just in case, but they had been dead for awhile.

"Salvage their armor," he said, LaCroix confirmed that was what she had been thinking; Schieber pulled out a utility knife and began to take off the Enclave Advanced Power Armor Mk II from the two bodies.

They folded up the ceramic armor and placed it in the satchel. They then turned to the metal door of what presumably was Dukov's Place. They knocked once and the door opened to reveal bald white man in scantily clad pajamas. He looked at the power armor with squinted eyes before realization dawned on him.

"Oh, yas, the water! Come in!" He said with his heavy Russian accent, the caravaner started to walk the brahmin to the door, "not the animal! What the fuck you think this is, a barn? That dirty beast stays outside, I only dirty beast allowed inside. You two, get me my water."

"Mister Dukov, we're just here for a the payment," said Schieber as he and LaCroix hoisted the box of bottled water from the animal's back.

"What? No. You come in, we have drink." Said the Russian with force, "maybe I even let you use my girls, have wild crazy parties. Just remember, they're mine."

"Mister Dukov, we just want the payment for Bigsley," replied LaCroix, hoping her power armor hid her femininity from this misogynist.

"One drink, won't hurt, Anna," commented Schieber as he walked into Dukov's Place.

She heard Dukov say, "oh, a lady in uniform, how fucking sexy."

She turned to the caravaner and said it would take a moment as she then strode inside. Dukov's Place resembled the it's owner well. Hanging from the ceiling were lurid statues in images of fornication, GNR could be heard from a radio on a hook along with a large heart shaped bed in the center of the large room. The large collection of empty whiskey and vodka bottles attested to how little water this man drank. Schieber was already introduced to the two female companions of Dukov.

Wondering where the Russian host went, she turned around to see him standing right behind her with a bottle of whiskey. He offered it to her, she held up her hand and declined. The Russian shrugged, drank some himself and walked over to Schieber. Her partner took of his helmet, his hair wet from sweat and matted to his face as he took a swig.

"The amount should be four hundred caps," said LaCroix.

Dukov nodded and went to a desk at the side of the wall, he took out a bag and tossed it to LaCroix, "should be all there, hun."

"Mind if I ask what you do, Mister Dukov," asked Schieber as the girls were now siting on a love seat together.

"I drink, I fuck, I have wild crazy parties," said Dukov in exaggeration, "and when I am done, I do it fucking again! I love life!"

"We can see that," said LaCroix as she shifted some of the bottles around, "I believe what we wanted to know was your life before all this."

"Who cares about that fucking life," he dismissed it with a wave of his hand, "I enough caps to keep me living in luxury forever."

"You have to do something to get that much wealth," said Schieber even more curious now.

"What the fuck do you care, delivery boy," said Dukov.

"We're just asking, no harm was meant," Schieber was trying to save the situation.

"So you want the secret to becoming stinking fucking rich and throw crazy fucking parties," pressed the Russian.

"Not in so many words, but sure," said Schieber.

"Well you can't, cause that is what I fucking do," said Dukov, "but you can try to be fucking great like me if you become a mercenary and land a big fat fucking paycheck."

"What was the job," pressed LaCroix, "and who was it for?"

"Alistair Tenpenny used to hire individual mercenaries," said Dukov, "until that Talon fucking Company came around and did fucking wholesale jobs."

"Wait, so you worked for Alistair Tenpenny," pressed LaCroix, "of Tenpenny Tower."

"Is there another fucking Tenpenny in the wasteland?" Dukov felt best when the attention was all on him.

The Lincoln Memorial had been restored to the best of the abilities that Caleb Smith could do. Hannah Newton and Knight Ban were amazed at how well the patchwork on the holes had gone. It was noticeable not marble like the rest of the building, but it did make it feel whole even with irregular shapes and a gray color. Hannibal Hamlin was going over the history of the end of slavery due to the American Civil War from 1861 to 1865. The trip had lasted long enough, the sun was setting on the mall. They bid good bye to the runaway slave settlement and walked down to the Washington Monument.

"They seem like a nice bunch," replied Newton.

"They're going to hit some problems," said Ban.

"What do you mean 'hit some problems'," asked the Operative.

"They're relying on scavenged food as their community grows," said Ban as he held up his hand ticking away the issues, "they are in an area under constant attack from super mutants; they have finite supplies of ammo; the trade caravans do not make their way here; and they do not really have any products or services to sell to be profitable. I've seen this all before, it's a failed settlement waiting to happen."

"They have such strong spirit though," thought Newton out load.

"Spirit and ideology is a great thing to make you feel better; but when you need food, safety, and prospects for the future it's the last thing to hold you together," he said with a sad shake of his head, "the rainy season will determine what happens to that settlement."

"The rainy season?"

"Shit, Operative, do you not know your own land?" Questioned Ban, "the rainy season from October to February. The temperature change that causes cool air pressure to replace the warm air leading to the build up of precipitation in the clouds to gain more mass and fall. Granted, this mainly occurs on the Eastern Shore and within the limits of the D.C. Ruins because cloud collisions or merges are more prevalent in these areas. Still the cycle of precipitation builds in clouds until the water is heavy than the actual clouds. Unfortunately, this water, for the most part, is also radioactive."

"Ban how do you know all this," asked a surprised Newton.

"It's all about survival kid," said the Knight as they made it to the Washington Monument and proceeded up the elevator to catch some sleep. They figured walking through the metro at night would not be the best of choices.

Operatives Pop and Alvarado were searching through Docter Lesko's research notes. The pictures were easier to understand for them compared to the techno-babel jargon used by the Doctor. The documented files showed the multiple iterations of the mutagen's effect on the ant hive of Grayditch. Lesko seemed to have found a way to remove the ability to breath fire. The new tests, in attempts to make them smaller seemed to be making them more docile. Pop and Alvarado noted this finding as Lesko trying to make it easier to work with ants than by having them aggressive.

Pop was working on the main terminal when he shouted in joy, Alvarado rushed forward, "what is it?"

"There was an encrypted folder on the terminal, partitioned from the rest," said the slightly chubby Asian boy, "I just cracked it."

"What does it say?" Alvarado had a pencil and paper out.

"One second," said Pop as he began opening entries, "November twenty-fifth, 2076, Journal of Dr. Weston Lesko. My new home has been completed with the help if Fred Wilks. It took a few days but the caps were worth having my own work station that wasn't dingy building. Work would have proceeded quicker had Mr. Brandice taken me up on my offer to assist in building. Something about the man seems all to familiar. Regardless, now that I have a place of my own I can store the Forced Evolution Virus more freely and proceed with my research."

"Okay, we need to find out more about this FEV," said Alvarado.

"The next entry is from January twelfth, 2077," said Pop as he started to read, "batches A1 through A24 have been disasters, none have come to full maturity. While their death does progress my research, I rather have living samples to work with than unfertilized eggs or primordial goo. The FEV is proving temperamental at best. It would have been between had I taken the Enclave records of previous FEV testing with me. I can not lament this decision anymore than my research dictates, even if I repeat the actions of my predecessors. If only the Enclave had funded my research and ideas on the value of science, instead they revert to simple barbarism and roles of exterminators."

"Are you joking me?" Said Alvarado, "Lesko's Enclave? I don't think the Brotherhood knows."

"This is important," said Pop as he closed down the terminal and they gathered their notes.

They both stepped out of the shack just at a man with glasses and a lab coat was on the front yard. A scribe wearing the maroon cloak of the Brotherhood was standing next to him talking. The both stopped mid sentence to see the intruders Pop and Alvarado.

"What were you doing in my house?!" Questioned Dr. Lesko as the Brotherhood scribe wielded a plasma pistol at the two Operatives.

"We can explain," said Pop and Alvarado at the same time as they raised their hands in the air.

Roe, Zimm and J.R. had left the Brass Lantern and walked up ramps to Moriarty's Saloon that over look the citizens of Megaton. J.R. had wrapped the cloth around his face again so that only his eyes could be seen. He stood behind them as Roe and Zimm pushed the door open. The saloon became silent. In the side room with arm chairs, a group of men clad in leather with various medals on their chest had women hanging on them as they drank.

The bald man they saw was among them, drinking whiskey heavily as a woman with short red hair sat on his lap. The Operatives sat at three open seats at the bar. The rest of the occupants went back to their conversations and the noise level increased that the radio at the bar was inaudible. The ghoul bartender served them cold beer, and they all drank, except for J.R. who didn't remove his face cloth.

"Long journey you lads had," asked an older man that came from a room behind the bar, his accent holding a slight Irish twang, "you can take that face covering off, no dust in my establishment. Well, except for the dust gathering in your laps, but that can be easily fixed if one of my lass' were to take that spot."

The man pointed to one of the women that was in the side room to come over, the red head removed herself from the older man and sauntered over, "what can I fix you boys with."

"We're here to talk with Moriarty," said Zimm as Roe was giving the red head a once over before turning his head back the old man; J.R.'s eyes were burning a hole through Moriarty from behind his face covering.

"Well, I'm Colin Moriarty," said the old man as looked to the bald man in the side room and motioned with his head to come over; said man took out his Chinese assault rifle and readied it as the others pushed their girls off and followed suit, "I'm the honorable Mayor of Megaton. Let me introduce you to my Sheriff, Jericho, and his deputies," he pointed to the men behind the Operatives that had readied their weapons, "no I believe it's time to introduce yourselves."

Roe looked back to see the five men behind them with guns at the ready, _was this how Lucas Simms died?_ He thought to himself as he said, "Daniel Roe."

Zimm held his hands flat on the table, to scared to look behind him, "Zachary Zimm."

"Pleasure to meet you both," said Moriarty in his brogue, "now that just leaves your lad. Or are you a ghoulie like dear ol' Gob is but had the good fortune to lose your tongue?"

"I'm surprised, father." said J.R. in contempt as he began to undo his face cover to show the Saloon owner, "that you wouldn't remember your own son."


	3. FUBAR

The Lighthouse Perspective

Chapter 3: FUBAR

There was an eerie silence in Moriarty's Saloon. J.R. was staring at the proprietor, the man he just named as he father. Colin Moriarty was shocked, to say the least, as the wastlander under the face covering proved to be his son. The up turned eyes brows, the prominent nose, even the cold grey eyes they both shared indicated a familial relation. The transplanted Irishman poured a shot of whiskey from under the bar and downed it quickly. He whipped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Son, my boy?" He questioned to himself as he poured another shot, "is alive? He's back? You're...back?"

"No," said J.R. coldly, "I'm not back, Megaton is not my home and it will never be."

Roe and Zimm looked on in shock, seeing father and son confront each other. Roe knew it had been a long time since J.R. had his father had been together, ever since the younger ran away. Zimm was hearing it for the first time today, and tried fitting the pieces all together. He grabbed Roe's arm and leaned to his ear.

"Did you know," he whispered, Roe just held his hand up in a motion to quiet Zimm as they needed to pay attention.

Moriarty passed three shot glasses to the Operatives and poured out some whiskey; He announced to all those around, "my son has returned to me! After ten years, my son has returned! Drinks are on the house tonight!"

There was a rush to the bar of all the patrons as they placed their order to Gob. People were pressing behind Roe and Zimm that they downed their shot quickly and slipped away from the bar to give room to other people. Someone had already run out and announced the news to people of Megaton, people came running to the Saloon to take up the once in a lifetime charity from Colin Moriarty. The owner stepped away from behind the counter, slapping Nova in the ass and whispering in her ear to help out Gob.

"You boys, come with me in the back," said Moriarty as he walked to his back office, "Jericho, watch the bar," he ordered, "anyone gets too rowdy, toss them out on they're ass."

"Aye, mayor," said Jericho as he drank from his own bottle of whiskey.

He closed the door to his office and directed the Operatives to sit down in the chairs. He turned the chair from his terminal and sat across from them as he poured another drink and downed it before passing it to his son. J.R. passed it to the others who both took swigs from it. The bottle was returned to Moriarty who refilled and took another drink.

"Colin it's good to have you back, son," he said with a large toothy smile.

"Wait, you're name's Colin?" Asked Zimm as he looked to J.R.

"Fuck yes," said the bar owner as he drank another shot, "what the fuck do you lot call him?"

"J.R." Answered Roe as he looked with mistrust to his colleague.

"Fitting," said Moriarty, "as his name is Colin Moriarty, junior."

"So that's what the J.R. stands for," said Zimm as the pieces started to come together.

"So how about it, Junior," said Moriarty Senior, "where have you been these past ten years."

"Away," said J.R. in a terse response.

"You may be grown, but I'm still your father," said Moriarty Senior.

Roe placed a hand on J.R.'s shoulder and pushed him back down in the seat as the other tried to walk away, "well, Mr. Moriarty, we're part of a mercenary organization..."

"My only son is a gun for hire," said the bar owner, "hmm, I see you're grey combat armor, not typical Talon Company wear. Thank the merciful lord for that, I'd hate to have son with those louts."

Zimm and J.R. turned to Roe as he told a lie that was obvious to them. The bar owner as slowly becoming more inebriated as the whiskey bottle was almost finished. Roe motioned that he would be talking for their supposed past actions, the other two just nodded in agreement.

"So why kind of jobs do you do as a merc," asked the bar owner.

"Typical things," continued Roe, "escort missions, treasure hunting, and reclamations."

"Exterminations," asked Moriarty Senior.

"Only if the caps are right," said Zimm firmly.

The older Moriarty turned to the younger, "at least my son's a good and proper business man, like his father."

J.R. took every ounce of patience to restrain himself, the venom still in his voice, "yes, just like my father."

"Well, since you boys are here," said Moriarty as he opened a draw and took out three keys, "might as well give you lot a room for however long you are here."

Roe caught the key as Moriarty Senior throw it to him, "thank you for your hospitality, Mister Moriarty."

"Least I can do," he said as he passed out the keys, "for bringing my long lost son to me. Thought the lad was dead somewhere, his bone bleached in the wastes. It's good to know he's alive and well. Thank you for that."

"Which rooms would they be?" Asked Zimm as he examined the key.

"All three to the same room," corrected Moriarty Senior, "up there stairs to the far right at the end of the hall."

"Thanks again," said Roe as they stood up.

"Go put your stuff away and come back down," said the bartender, "we have a celebration to hold all night!"

The operatives walked out of the room and up the stairs. Colin Moriarty, Sr, waited several moments and shook hit head. The dazed look that he had pretended to hold in his eyes was lost instantly as his pupils refocused. He stood up and briskly walked to his door, opened it and barely stuck his body out. The noise from the patrons drinking their free booze was pounding and boisterous, Jericho looked up to see Moriarty waving his hand to get his attention. He pushed one of the Megaton citizens out of his way as he walked to the back room that was Moriarty's office, closing the door behind him.

Operatives Lolli Pop and Juan Alvarado had been caught in their theft. Instantly they knew they were in over their heads and had overstepped their duty. _Communicate, observe, and report_, thought Alvarado, _not pick a lock to get into a fucking shack._ The plasma pistol was trained on him directly, the green glow reflecting in his eyes. Lolli shuffled next to him, causing the pistol to be pointed him now.

"Whoa, Scribe Mendel don't act so hasty, we...we can explain," said Alvarado slowly.

"What were you doing in my home," demanded Lesko as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Let's just take this inside and we can discuss this," Alvarado slowly motioned to the door.

"Stay where you are," she said, the glow of the pistol illuminating her hands.

"Listen care fully to me," said Juan, "I'm going to reach to my jacket and show you my right breast plate..."

"Move slowly," she nodded the pistol at him as Alvarado slowly moved his jacket open.

Lesko saw the inner holster that that held a N99 10mm pistol and shouted, "he's got a gun!"

Scribe Mendel was shocked by Lesko and pulled the trigger. The plasma pinch hit Alvarado in the left shoulder, exploding it out into pink mist with some sizzling green light. He screamed out and fell backwards on his left side. The pain had caused him to pass out, his blood began to pool into the soil making it a sickly colored mud. Lolli dropped to his partner and applied pressure to Alvarado's shoulder with his bare hand.

"Fucking help me," he shouted to the doctors, "we're fucking Brotherhood. Shit!"

Scribe Mendel ran forward to look at the wound she just caused. From the side pouch she pulled out some clean cloth and placed it directly against the wound. She then pulled out a stimpak and injected it directly into the wound. It did little but start the healing process at the edges of the wound but the bleeding was not abated; she took out a package and tore of the edge and tossed the powder on the wound clotting it instantly.

Mendel began to secure the gauze to the wound with medical tap, as Lolli looked up to see the white tails of Doctor Lesko running down the street to the south eastern entrance. He was a little too heavy set but was able to give the doctor chase as Lesko spent more time at terminals than running from danger. Lolli reached him and tackled him to the ground.

Pulling him back as the scientist tried to crawl away, Pop was winded and grabbed the lab coat pulling him back. He turned Lesko over and straddled him, holding his arm the Operative punched Lesko in the face, the scientist's glasses flew off his face. Lesko reached forward, his open palms rubbing against Lolli's face and neck as the man tried to push him away. Pop pushed his arms to the side and punched Lesko in the face again.

"Fucker," he said as punched the scientist again, raspy breath escaping Lesko's lungs as aerosol blood was sprayed on Pop's jacket, combat armor and face as he kept punching, "thought you could fucking run away."

The Knight, Jenson, that was guarding the south eastern entrance heard the commotion and ran to it. Recognizing both Lesko and the Brotherhood of Steel Operative he decided it would be best to end the fight. Lesko was barely alive as the Operative kept on punching and yelling at him. Knight Jenson walked up behind Pop and knocked him out cold with the but of his laser rifle.

Operative Lolli Pop crumpled like a bag of potatoes on top of Lesko. Knight Jenson holstered his rifle and picked them both up on his each shoulder, the extra strength from the power armor doing most of the lifting. He followed the tracks back to Lesko's shack to find Scribe Mendel with another one of the Operatives wounded on the ground. His legs were lifted above the body by a bucket. Knight Jenson dropped Lolli Pop on the ground and then softly laid down Lesko as he was more damaged.

"What happened here," he asked in his metallic voice.

"I wish I know," Mendel said as she searched through her first aid kit, "caught them coming from Lesko's place."

"They're Brotherhood," said Knight Jenson as he pushed Pop's jacket to the side to show the insignia, "these two have even been here before."

"They...they have?" She asked, the feeling of guilt rising in her stomach.

"You were down in the tunnels with the egg-head," said Jenson just as the Lesko start to cough violently as blood came up.

Scribe Mendel rushed to him and turned him on his side as she pulled out another stimpak and injected it directly into his neck, "go get the town doctor, now," she ordered.

Jenson nodded and walked down the street to the town physician's house mumbling in his metallic voice, "this is what happens when you get involved with the locals."

Operative Hannah Newton and Knight Ban were coming out from the secured Washington Monument. The saw all three Brotherhood of Steel Knights talking with a woman in combat armor. She had neck length long black hair that framed her pale white skin. She was talking with the Knights as if they were long term friends. The black haired woman noticed Ban and Newton.

"Why didn't you say you had, reinforcements," she said to the Knight Captain that was in command, tapping his power armor with a fist, "pleasure to meet you, I'm Sydney, local arms and ammo dealer."

"Err, hello," said Knight Ban in confusion at the extended hand, looking to the Knight Captain, "what is this?"

"This," said Sydney, her tone more terse, "is the ammo supply to the Mall outpost for you steel heads."

"It's okay, Knight Ban," said the metallic voice of the Knight Captain, "Sydney's been helping supply us with ammo in a fair exchange for all the weapons we collect from the muties. She's rather helpful. Ban here is not reinforcements, just some tourists."

"Not to mention one of the prettiest ladies of the wastes," said another Knight with their metallic voice.

"Flattery won't get you more 5mm ammo, Hawkins," said Sydney with an unamused look on her face.

The Knight named Hawkins whistled through his helmet, "you'll take mutie guns but what about my gun, lovely."

"Stow it Hawkins," said the Knight Captain, "I'm sorry for my crew's comments."

"I wouldn't expect anything less from three lonely men guarding the Washington Monument," commented the woman as she turned to Ban, "Knight Ban is, need a fix on microfusion cells?"

"Depends on the price," he said as he rubbed the chamber of his rifle that was slung in front of him.

"Three caps per microfusion cartage, or equivalent in trade," bartered Sydney, "what about you sweetie, I'll trade you ten rounds of ten millimeter ammo for five caps or equivalent; didn't catch your name either."

"Newton," said Hannah, "I don't have much to trade."

"Where are your supplies," questioned Ban not seeing her carry a bag.

"In my set up at Underworld," replied Sydney.

"A normal amongst ghoulies," sneered Ban through his metallic voice.

"They're more civil than some of those so-called normal people," she replied coldly.

"It's up to you, Knight Ban," replied Newton.

"Never seen a ghoul city first hand before," he said with a shrug of his power armor, "lead the way, arms dealer."

The started to walk, following Sydney as she continued to talk with them. They reached the entrance of the Museum of American History. There were two sentries outside guarding the entrance, one was a human with short messy red hair, combat armor, and a flamer; the other was a ghoul with patches of pink hair and a laser rifle. The approaching power armor alerted the guards who drew their weapons. Sydney stepped in front of them.

"They're customers with me," she said as she lowered her arms so the sentries lowered their weapons.

The ghoul spoke up, "you know the rules, Syd, no Brotherhood."

"Since I've started dealing with them, have they shot any ghouls?" Questioned the proprietor of the century.

"I'm just restating Winthrop's rules," said the ghoul as she stowed her weapon, "if you guide the tourists, I don't care."

They walked through the front doors to the circular desk. Through the main atrium Ban and Newton could see the arched entrance that was covered in skulls, the fallen skeletal remains of a large reptile and truncated stance of a large wooly elephant. Neither Ban nor Newton know what those creatures were, however the green creature leaning against the far wall caught both of their attention. Ban wrapped his hand against the handle of his laser rifle, Sydney placed a hand on top of his.

"Fawkes handles security in the atrium," she said calmly, "he's not like other super mutants."

"An intelligent super mutant on the east coast," questioned Ban in a metallic growl, "now I've seen everything."

"They happen," said Newton remembering the interaction with such a mutant named Uncle Leo.

They walked forward to the main atrium to see an erected wooden set with a wagon behind it and a sign that read: The Amazing Aqua Cura. A ghoul wearing a light grey business suit with a ful head of hair was talking to five or six ghouls standing around and clapping. He brought a ghoul on stage that had what seemed to be a full head of hair as well. The new ghoul started talking to the crowd.

As they got to the main door Fawkes eyed them as he leaned against the wall. He was wearing a ripped up vault jump suit that showed his forced muscular torso with a gatling laser hanging on his shoulders. His face was in a permanent sneer like all other super mutants. He nodded as they entered in the main concourse of Underworld. The black statue in front showed the skeletal, human, and demonic essence in hell. Ghouls walked around and sat on benches walking between open doors.

"So this is a ghoul city," said Knight Ban.

"Yea, my shops up in the Ninth Circle," said Sydney as she lead the way, some of the ghouls gave them dirty looks because of their of Brotherhood of Steel power armor.

"The Ninth Circle, what's that," asked Newton.

"It's the local bar," said Sydney as they walked up the stairs where a Mister Gutsy unit was making rounds.

"Atten-shun!" Shouted the converted military unit, "officers on deck! Permission to speak, sir!"

Ban looked at Newton and then back to the Mister Gutsy, "granted."

"Unit Cerberus is glad to see some true American heroes, sir," started the Mister Gutsy unit, "but Unit Cerberus would like to know what you are doing down in the maggot farm of zombie world?"

"We're here to do business with Sydney," replied Ban.

"Affirmative, the civilian is the one saving grace of these pansy zombies," said the military robot.

"That will be all, Cerberus," said Sydney as they continued going down the hall.

"Go Underworld! Go Ghouls! Yay," said the robot as it continued on, Ban and Newton heard it say, "damn this pansy zombie programming."

They got to a large double door that Sydney opened to show two rooms, with many tables and patrons sitting around drinking. There was a large bar with a refrigerator to cool some drinks and two shelving units that had whiskey, vodka, scotch, and wine bottles on display. Leaning against the counter was an abnormally large ghoul that was washing out a cup with a rag. He looked up to reveal some patches of black hair, intake flesh, with exposed musculature.

"How can I assist you," he said showing that the radiation had affected his voice box.

Newton decided to sit at the bar as Knight Ban went to the other side where Sydney had her work station, "you got a nuka cola?"

"Yea, for fifteen caps," he reached into the refrigerator, popped the cap and pocketed it, as Newton passed him fifteen caps, "they're you go."

"Thanks," said Hannah as she took her helmet off to reveal her auburn hair that was tied up.

"Whoa, never met a girl Knight before," said Sydney as she was bargaining with Ban.

Ban looked over at Hannah and shook his head, as Newton sipped the ice cold nuka cola, "for a smoothskin you don't talk that much," said the bartender.

"I'm letting other people do that," she said slowly and carefully watching her words as she knew Ban was listening.

"You know I can improve your weapons right," said Sydney as she examined the laser rifle, "I can increase the capacitor so it can fire faster. Hell, given the caps, I could increase the out put to make it a more powerful laser bolt as well."

"Perhaps another time," said Ban as he took his weapon back and slung it around his front for easier access, "but ol' Bess, here, has treated me well."

"Given what I can do," said Sydney, "I could turn ol' Bess into Ban's Blaster."

"I'd prefer something more original," he said stroking the chamber of ol' Bess in a way that creeped out Hannah, yet Sydney seemed to understand.

"Hmmm, perhaps Ban's Bane?" She posed reflectively, "maybe even Ban's Boomstick? Though it really doesn't go boom, now does it."

"It makes others go boom," replied Ban with a smile under his helmet.

"Those two will being going at it for a while," said Charon as he washed the glass, "that's why usually can stand smoothskins...well, except for one."

"Who was that?" Asked Hannah as she took a mouthful of the carbonated beverage.

"You smoothskins call him the Lone Wanderer," stated Charon as Hannah spit up the nuka cola on the counter, the ghoul began to wipe it with his dirty rag, "thanks for that, I needed the extra work."

Operatives Quinn Schieber and Anna LaCroix continued to onto to Friendship Heights Settlement from Dukov's place. While Anna thought the man was an utter louse, the information he had provided on Allistair Tenpenny and the conscription to explore For Constantine proved useful with the latter's location. If the intelligence proved solid, it might mean an increase in technology for the Brotherhood which would certainly make life in the wasteland a lot easier. The continued onwards with the caravaner to Farragut Metro and cut through the ruins because they lacked tickets to present to the security protectron.

"So what's this settlement like," asked the caravan driver.

"They saved our ass a while back," informed Schieber, "but they're all business. The aqua pura is reward for saving us."

"So no defined traders or anything," asked the caravaner as he urged the brahmin onwards.

"I'm sure you'll find one," said LaCroix, "if you talk with Boadicea she'll probably set you up."

"She's the leader?" Asked the man as he guided the brahmin.

"For a caravan driver you ask a lot of questions," stated Schieber as he held his hand up and then pointed to the several cars on fire.

LaCroix broke to the left as Schieber broke to the right, walking down the remains of the road to the entrance of the settlement. The fires were burning in the background as Schieber moved to the settlement with LaCroix covering. The settlement was completely closed, the erected walls had a gate rolled out. He moved forward and knocked on it, rattling the flimsy security.

From behind the wall an eye slide opened with the ice cold blue of eyes of the settlement leader, "we're here with the aqua pura," announced Schieber with his voice turned into a metallic sound.

"I don't see any water," commented Boadicea.

"Bring up the caravan!" Ordered Schieber as he stowed his gun and LaCroix came over, he turned back to the settlement gate, "what happened here?"

"Super mutants happened," said Boadicea as her and her men opened the door when the caravan came into view, "hurry up and get your asses in here."

Roe, Zimm, and J.R. went up the stairs and into their gifted room from J.R.'s father. The room had two bunk beds in it, clearly meant for a group of travelers that needed a rest stop. Zimm walked over to the one of the lower bunks and laid down on the bed. Roe went across to the other one and sat down, and started to unlace his combat boots. J.R. just stood near the closed door, his arms crossed across his chest.

"You realize what this means, right?" He asked as he stared at both Roe and Zimm.

"What are you talking about," sighed Zimm as he stared up to the bunk bed above him.

"We accepted a gift from Moriarty," said J.R. flatly, "now we're in his debt."

"He's your father," said Zimm, "that just doesn't make sense."

"You don't know the man, like I do," stated J.R. as he held his hand up and sat in the chair next to the desk in the room, "it doesn't matter who you are: friend, family, lover, or enemy; the second you accept a gift from that man, you're in his debt. A debt that he can call you on at anytime, anywhere."

"Do you think he knows who we really are," asked Roe as he popped of his boot and started to unlace the other.

"I don't know," said J.R. as he rubbed his temples, "but he'll find out, somehow. He's crafty, you two don't understand. Moriarty is the crime boss of Megaton. Everything that happens in this town he has his fingers in."

"So he'll know what happened to Simms," confirmed Roe as he took his other boot off.

"Fuck Lucas Simms, you don't get it do you?" J.R. began to raise his voice, "Moriarty has proclaimed himself Mayor of Megaton, Jericho is sheriff, and clearly in the pocket of Moriarty! Those thugs out there smell like ex-raiders, just like Moriarty. There is something rotten in Megaton, and now we are in the middle of it because we accepted a gift from Moriarty."

"He's your father, it can't be that bad," commented Zimm as he spread his arms behind his head.

J.R. stood up and threw the chair against the wall, "don't call him that, he is no more a father to me than he is a mayor of this city. He is a blood sucking leech that needs to be burnt off."

"Okay, okay, Moriarty is scum, we know this," said Roe as he sat up and held his hands up, "but don't you think your bias may be getting a bit in the way here."

"Listen to me Dan, he will find a way to use us," J.R. was sitting on the floor, his back to the desk, his head nearly between his knees, "he did it to my mother before he killed her. It's why I had to leave, to get out of here. To get away from his grimy fingers that wind their way through everything. Megaton is Moriarty's town, but now it is more clear and present than it was before I left."

"And that is why we're here," said Daniel Roe firmly, "and I'm not going to stop you if you want to go back to Alexandria."

"Fuck, goddamnit," said J.R. as he rubbed his head and stood up, "I need a drink and a smoke."

"Are you going down stairs?" Zimm offered.

"Fuck, I don't want his moonshine," said J.R., "I'm going to the Brass Lantern."

Roe stood up and held J.R.'s arm at the elbow, "I think it would be best if we went to Moriarty's celebration down stairs..."

"It will be expected of us," said Zimm as he stood up as well.

"Fine, but I want one of you around me at all times," said J.R. as he pointed to the them, Roe began putting his shoes back on, "watch my back to make sure no one puts a knife in it."

"We got you covered," said Zimm as he slapped J.R. shoulder sending a cloud of dust and dirt into the air.

"Now I feel reassured," commented J.R. as they all left downstairs together.


	4. Contact

The Lighthouse Perspective

Chapter 4: Contact

Scribe Mendel and the local town doctor of Grayditch were examining the vitals of the seriously wounded Dr. Lesko and Operative Alvarado. Lesko was lying on the bed with his head bandaged, tape making sure his eyes were closed, and an impromptu suction device in his mouth that made sure he didn't choke on his own saliva. He had not been responsive for hours, at worst the doctor thought the man had suffered a cerebral hemorrhage and at best it was a bad concussion. Either way, the good doctor Lesko had lost the operation of part of his brain, now it was a waiting game to try and bring the man back to consciousness. The Brotherhood Operative, Alvarado, on the other hand would make a full recovery. It would take months for his shoulder to heal and even years of therapy after that, but in the end the young Operative would be able to use his arm. However, there was now a portion of his shoulder that would be missing and grotesque scar that would stay with him forever. The doctors had to remove the chest plate to his combat armor by cutting it off, making sure not to aggravate the wound further by accidentally touching it some dirty armor. He lay on an old hospital gurney that had been reconstituted for the Grayditch clinic in a chemically induced sleep.

Operative Lolli Pop was not in danger of any serious wounds, the worst was a lump on the back of his skull. He woke up slowly, his sight was hazy as it returned to him as he gained his bearings. He noticed that he was no longer outside, or over Lesko punching him in the head. Pop tried to rub the back of his but couldn't move his arms. He looked down to see his wrists had been tied to the side of a rickety gurney. Pop struggled from side to side, trying to see if the cords would give way, to no avail. He turned his head from side to side, wincing as the lump rolled against the back of the hard mat.

Pop could just make out the form of Alvarado lying in the hospital gurney next to him. He tried to gain the attention of his partner by making some noises to get his attention. The drug induced sleep was too deep to even allow Alvarado to be awaken when Pop called out his name. Resigned to the fact that his partner had been drugged, Pop returned to trying to loosen the cords that tied his hands to the gurney. He pulled and pulled, trying to twist the cords with his wrists. The shifting on the gurney became more violent as he put more force into his movement; the two hundred year old gurney could no longer support him and with one violent thrust at his bindings, Operative Pop tipped the gurney over.

The sound was deafening and the impact startled Pop, he opened his eyes again to see that his arms and legs were okay, nothing broken. The door to Lolli's backside opened as he heard two sets of feet enter the room. There was a shuffle as they walked around the gurney he could hear the audible sigh a relief that was exhaled.

"It's alright," one of them called out to the front room, as he felt the gurney be lifted and tipped upright.

"Why am I tied up," he asked, seeing for the first time the face of the Brotherhood Scribe and another man in a white lab coat with combat boots and pants on.

"For our safety," he said with indifference.

"I'm not here to hurt anyone," pleaded Lolli Pop, "I'm a member of the Brotherhood of Steel."

"We believe you," affirmed the scribe, "Jenson and Kagan vouched for you and your partner."

"Still doesn't mean your safe to be around," replied the town doctor as he took out stethoscope to listen to Pop's heart, "Lesko sure doesn't think you're safe...that is if he's still thinking. I need better equipment."

The last part was directed to the Scribe, "listen, Doctor Caius, the Brotherhood doesn't have anything like that ourselves. The best we have is a converted Mister Gutsy unit that does field triage."

"The man is going to die, unless I have better equipment," he said as he walked over to Lesko, pressing two fingers on his jugular and looking at his wrist watch.

"Scribe, about Lesko," started Pop as he looked up at her in the maroon robes.

"Don't you think you've done enough to the man already," she said crossing her arms.

"He's Enclave," said Lolli Pop firmly.

The town doctor scoffed shaking his head, "Lesko was never in the Enclave."

"We have proof," continued Lolli Pop as he struggled against his binds, "in my notebook...if you looked through it you'll see what it says. It's also on his encrypted journal that I hacked in his shack."

"Which you entered illegally," answered Scribe Mendel.

"There isn't a law out here in the wastes!" Shouted Lolli Pop as he fought against his constraints.

"We're the law," answered the scribe, "we're the protectors, the jurists, and the executioners where and when we need to be."

"Law is civilization," replied the doctor as he walked from Lesko's gurney, "as long as civilization exists, law will exist. Property, especially in the wasteland, is the most fundamental law."

"You're both crazy," commented the operative as he continued to struggle against his bonds, "Lesko is or was in the Enclave. He's the evil one here! Not Alvarado! Not ME!"

"Lesko was never in the Enclave," said the doctor, "trust me."

"I don't trust either of you now," replied Pop as he stared from Mendel to Caius, "give me proof."

"Lesko wasn't in the Enclave, I know this for a fact," commented the doctor as he rolled the sleeve of his left arm up to show a black 'E' surrounded by twelve black five-pointed stars on his forearm, "because I'm Enclave."

Pop began to struggle against the restraints more, the cords now cutting into his wrists, the Brotherhood scribe held down his shoulders and yelled to the Enclave doctor, "get a sedative quickly;" the doctor turned around picked up a syringe and jammed it into the interior thigh of the Operative.

Operative Hannah Newton and Knight Ban had exited out of Ancostia Crossing. The were walking by the entrance of Rivet City when they heard someone whistle. The power armor helmets turned and reflected the receding sunlight into the eyes of the person on top of the battlements. The Rivet City Security uniform denoted the person's position and the P100 Plasma Rifle, which had been stripped from a dead Enclave grunt, informed Ban that was Officer Lepelletier. Newton and Ban walked up the ramp, their power armor clanking on the metal as they made it up to see the head of Purifier Security.

"Hail, Lepelletier," greeted Ban, holding up his left hand from the laser rifle strapped to his chest, "how's the water?"

"Cold," answered the woman as she brushed the black hair from her eyes, "where have you two Knight come from?"

"Sightseeing at the Mall, safe and secure, for the most part," replied Ban as he rested his hands against his laser rifle at the trigger guard and barrel, "what can we do for you."

"Good to see the Brotherhood of Steel has learned some manners," she said as she walked back to her desk and picked up a clip board.

Ban laughed a little and elbowed Newton to laugh with him, she joined hesitantly, "only for you and your boys Lepelletier. We give respect where it is due."

"Flattery will get you everything, Knight," she flipped through some pages, "I had a shipment leave recently for this new place, Friendship Heights, they should've been back Yesterday."

Ban and Newton looked at each other, "was anyone with them besides our guys."

"Just two Brotherhood, caravan driver and one pack brahmin," she said, "you might want to talk with Bigsley, I bet he's anxious to get the brahmin back."

"We'll talk with him," said Ban with a nod, "Steel be with you, Lepelletier."

"Can't you guys just ever say goodbye?" She asked frustrated as she went back to the desk.

"Goodbye," said Newton as her and Ban kept walking down the metal ramp.

"Whatever," said Office Lepelletier as they walked over to Project Purity, ducking through the rusted beams of a former super mutant outpost before climbing the ramps to the walkway to get the research station.

They walked down the dark hallway til they came to the entrance of Project Purity. The scribes were sitting against the wall in several chairs with books and ledgers balanced on their laps. Scribe Bigsley could be heard typing away in his office on the rectified terminal. Ban and Newton walked up to the door and opened it.

"Don't you know how to knock," said the scribe as he looked up to see the two Knights walk in, "back already, hand over my caps will you."

"I'm sorry, Scribe," said Ban as he stared the man down through his power helmet, "what caps are you talking about?"

"What? You're not the same two I sent of to that raider camp, are you?" He asked as he rubbed his eyes, the large bags stretching.

"No, we are not, Scribe," replied Ban with disdain, "and for the future, please don't use our personnel for your corrupt business."

"Go ahead, tell Elder Lyons," Scribe Bigsley waved off Ban and Newton, "what could he do, exile me? You need me here, no one else can do what I do! The worst that'll happen is Lyons will give me a slap on the wrist and extend my sentence here. I refuse to suck up to him like Yearling. We're better than that, at least I have the morals to stick to my ideas."

"Watch your tongue, Scribe," said Ban as he rubbed the trigger guard in show.

"Fine, jeez, Knight," said Bigsley in sarcasm, "I'm sorry. Even though I'm right, I'm sorry I'm right. Now what are you here for?"

Ignoring the faux apology, Ban started to grind his teeth as he asked, "what news from the other two that transported aqua pura to Friendship Heights?"

"None," said Bigsley as he went back to the terminal and continued typing.

Ban, his temper getting the better of him, moved up to the desk and grabbed the scribe by his robes, "where are they?"

"Hey!" Shouted Bigsley as Ban manhandled him, "I was serious, last I know they were on the way to Friendship Heights. I don't know anything else."

Ban let go forcing Bigsley to fall back into his chair, "we're going to Friendship Heights, lead the way Newton."

Newton took out her map and looked for the quickest possible route as Ban and her left the office, "they're probably already dead, you know. Make sure to collect their tech!"

Roe woke up with a splitting headache, he moaned as he tried to orient himself. In so doing, he feel from the top bunk on to the metal floor, luckily it bore his weight but still stung as he disentangled himself from the sheets. Zimm shot up in the bottom bunk as he heard the loud noise, the low sagging top bunk was in the way of his head. He yelped and held his hands to his head to try and stop the ringing.

J.R. opened one groggy eye to see his two other bunk mates in their misfortunes. The night had been one of copious drinking and story telling. Roe had done most of the telling, even drunk he was a semi-believable liar. J.R. and Zimm, for the most part, supplemented their taciturn style with shots and beer chasers. They involved themselves in several games, including caps and kings. As most drinking games are, the rules of both broke down midway when the participants were pretty well hammered.

It was in the early morning that the Operatives had crawled into bed, to get some sleep before they started to do their job, ask questions, and listen in on conversations. Under the watchful eye, ear, and hand of Moriarty Senior, their job was going to prove more difficult. J.R. threw his legs out of bed and tried to sit up straight. He hunched over and spit on the floor, licking his lips to wet them, he still tasted the whiskey from last night.

Roe managed to get up straight and untangle himself, he was in the in process of staring in the mirror and splashing water on his face. Zimm was rubbing his head with one hand and putting on a boot with another. As he tried to lace it up with one hand, Zimm groaned and realized he needed the power of two hands to do his boots. Roe shook his head to dry it off and turned to see his team.

"Alright boys," he said, his voice sore and like gravel, "we need to gather some intel. Zach, we could really use a communication relay, see if this town has one. Ham radio, holotape typer, paper and pencil, I don't care, we're just going to need to contact Alexandria and give them a status update."

"Any place you suggest," asked Zimm as he looked to J.R. who was the local resident.

"Walter may know something," the blank look from Zimm made J.R. continue, "he's at the purifier plant, up top near Simm's place."

"Gotcha," said Zimm as he did up his other boot.

"Any old contacts you can utilize," asked Roe of J.R. who shook his head.

"Haven't been around in a while, and there are some new faces," he said staring at his hands, "not to mention, I'm certain 'dad' would want to spend time with me. Day usually isn't the best for his Saloon."

"Can you handle it?" Asked Roe seriously.

"Sure, whatever," replied J.R.

"If you get in trouble ask someone to get me," Roe continued, "I'm going to try and see what happened to Simms, not everyone here can be afraid of Moriarty or have their facts based on rumor."

"I'd check that reasoning at the door," said J.R. as started to fit his boots on.

"I hope the rest of the city is like us," commented Zimm as he rubbed his head and reached for the chest plate of his combat armor.

"They're a hard bunch," joked J.R. with a bit of smile, "they have whiskey for blood and copper for stomachs."

Quin Schieber and Anna LaCroix were talking with Boadicea intimately. They had removed their helmets to be able to talk in whispers. The caravan driver was talking with some of the others in the reformed raider camp. He had unloaded the water and was now discussing trade with them on the odds and ends he had. He showed them some worn out pistols, cloth, sewing materials and other items that he was decided to sell at highly inflated rates.

"So you've been under constant mutant attack," surmised LaCroix.

"Every other day, two or three come around," answered the encampment leader, "last one had a minigun."

"These fortifications won't hold them off forever," Schieber examined the cheap wooden barricade.

"These were the best temporary ones we could construct," said Boadicea as she paced back and forth, the grim had built up all over her face and on her bald head.

"The good part is that you have a lot of able body people and weapons," commented LaCroix as she looked to see the stock piled ammo boxes.

"We've lost five men so far," said the former raider leader, "our numbers are now in the mid twenties, we can't even escape into the tunnels because they're outside of the fortifications. Our scout, Gregor, is missing. This is anything but lucky."

"Don't become distressed," said Schieber as he leaned forward, "we don't need your men to panic."

"You're right," she said looking into his eyes, "it would have been so much easier to keep ourselves nomadic."

"If you did, we couldn't supply you with water," said LaCroix, "I just hope you have enough food."

"We have plenty of that from the kennels," Aden, the large black man with the flamer that had saved the Operatives a few weeks ago said as he joined the group, "the water will be a big help though, rather not have the men dazed and hazy on alcohol while we're under attack."

"Where do the mutties come from," asked LaCroix as she took out their map.

"From the east," said Aden as he pointed on the map from their marker to the eastern areas.

"Okay, what we can do in the interim is cut small gun ports into the barricade," said Schieber as he pointed to two specific areas per board, "if you have them set up at the two/thirds mark in either way, you'd be able to create a cross fire. That cross fire will allow for multiple shooters on one target, so more damage, less time, and less ammo. The only draw back is that the barricade is weak, so any muttie that gets too close can have a chance to do some real damage to it."

"What else can we do to strengthen the barricade," asked Aden as he smoked a stale cigar.

"There were some burnt out cars on the road and in the parking lot," said LaCroix, "stack them or tip them over and use as a reinforcement."

"If we can get them over, those suckers weigh a ton," commented Aden as he puffed out a gray cloud of stale smoke.

"The gear shift will be rusted shut, same with the axles," pondered Schieber as he rubbed his chin, "it'll be back breaking labor, but if we tether them and pull with all of the men, we should be able to pull them to us and then tip them on the side and prop them up. Would you let me configure that flamer for welding?"

Aden held up his trusty weapon, "will you be able to undo it? Or get me a new one?"

"We'll see which comes first, but it looks like we have a long night ahead of us," said Schieber as Boadicea went to gather the men, he turned to LaCroix, "and can you get that brahmin, I'm sure the caravan guide wouldn't mind with the proper influence."

It took the whole night, working from dusk to dawn to move the five or so cars and then tip them over next to the wooden walls of the barricade. Instead of carving the holes, which became impossible with the cars in the way, several step ladders were put in place for the former raiders to to shoot down from. Schieber had done the welding himself after modifying Aden's flamer. Given more time and material, Friendship Heights could have been better fortified, however for the time constraints and the threat of super mutants, heavy walls and brute force would have to do. The rolling gate was closed once again, the majority of the men going back to their bunks to sleep.

Probably the second best find they were able to get were two working fusion reactors from the cars. Schieber was to run them parallel, teaching another one of Boadicea's men how attach more later on, and power two sets of flood lights. The flood lights were helpful during the night because it illuminated the front side of the Heights. The obvious danger with having the lights on was the attraction of any hostile people or creatures. However, the intense power of them blinded any individual that looked at them directly, nor could they see the sentry that was posted behind each one at the wall. It would be better to see the enemy than just to see their tracer rounds.

Schieber and LaCroix were sitting at one of the picnic tables sharing food. Aden was watching from one of the step ladders. Boadicea was talking with her men as they readied ammunition. The caravan driver was tying up his brahmin to a metal post. He then sat down with the Operatives, taking out his own can of cram and popping it's lid.

"Guess we caught them on a bad day," said the caravan driver.

"Try a bad week," commented LaCroix, exhausted from the night's work.

"So when do we move out?" The caravan driver was desperate to leave a war zone and frontier city.

"When we can," answered Schieber.

"Can't we leave now," said the trader, Schieber and LaCroix stared at him coldly, "seriously, you two have done wonders for them, now it's time for them to do the rest."

"I rather not get shot from behind," answered LaCroix as she ate some more.

"Nor captured by a muttie," nodded Schieber.

Unknown to all those now confined to the fortified Friendship Heights, there were two parties coming to see them. On from the south, comprised of two Brotherhood of Steel members. And one from the east, which consisted of several super mutants and centaurs. The ate calmly, not saying much. After the breakfast, it was time to check, double check, and fix all weaponry. The super mutants would surely come after all the activity from the night, but this time, they would be hit hard.

It was midday, break time at the Alexandria for the servants and the new owners. Star Paladin Bael was eating in the cafeteria alone. Yearling was busy at work in Arlington Library, Galeas and Bors were presently playing a game of pool. One of the younger servant girls, Bael couldn't remember her name, was watching the front door. Yearling had installed an alarm system, that if anyone unwarranted broke through it would alert the rest to duty. He sighed heavily and stabbed unknown meat product with his fork.

Elias had finished his afternoon prayers and relying heavily on his crutches made his way to the cafeteria. He took some brahmin milk and stale cereal in a bowl. The gun shot wound had been aching him, but Elias knew that it was just a slow healing wound. He sat across from Bael, who looked up to see him before returning to his meal.

"Good afternoon," greeted Elias politely.

Bael grunted as he stabbed his meat and looked at the man. Elias decided to press the conversation forward, "and how are you doing today Star Paladin?"

"Fine," answered Bael tersely.

"It seems we've had an incident the other day," continued Elias as he stirred his cereal in the brahmin milk, "some words were said that rather upset one of the servants."

"I apologized," Bael now was staring intently at Elias, the other man could only help but smile.

"That does not change the threat my people feel," said the former raider and tribal, "we volunteered to do menial labor thinking that you would provide us a better life than what is out there in the wastes. We have all seen the changes the occur within people out there. In here, in this sanctuary, it should be different. Do you know what I am talking about?"

"Do you want me to apologize to all the servants," asked Bael as he sat back and crossed his arms.

"If you feel that is necessary, I will gather them," said Elias with a smile, "however, I'd prefer a more regulated treatment of us, if you didn't mind."

"What do you mean regulated treatment," Bael had forgotten about his meal completely.

"Well, even though we do your cleaning, organizing and cooking for large meals," continued Elias, "to be treated as humans, whatever our former station was, in this present. No threats of death, pain, or dismemberment from you or your people should be levied on mine. To make this situation work for the best of our two worlds, we need to work together."

"I hear what you're saying," said Bael as he put his finger down on the table, pressing into it, "but there is a problem with your thought, there is only one world. Not two. We are here, and so are you. Working together would be beneficial to both of us, agreed. But you will be held to the same standard of any of my Operatives, is that understood?"

"Agreed, Star Paladin," said Elias passively, "just as long as you understand that you will be held to the same standard of any of us caretakers."

Bael thought for a moment and nodded, thinking it would be easy to fulfill the needs of the caretakers; he slid his meat dish over to head servant and took his cereal for himself, "you need protein for that wound to heal quickly."

"Thank you," said Elias as they ate in silence.

J.R. had walked down the stairs to the main room of the Saloon. His father, Colin Moriarty Senior was already awake and at the bar stool. He was drinking a glass of water, the bottle labeled aqua pura was on the counter as well. The person he was talking with, the Sheriff of Megaton Jericho, was there with him, but instead of water he was drinking from a flask containing whiskey. They were in hushed conversation the whole time until J.R. made it all the way down the steps.

"There he is, my little business man," greeted Moriarty with a cheery smile, "you have made me a rich man last night, Junior, did you know that."

"What are you talking about...dad," said J.R. trying not to grit his teeth in disdain, "the drinks were on the house as you said."

"The drinks were on the house for the night," corrected Moriarty Senior, "but as soon as that clock struck midnight, the tabs started piling up. Luckily I have a good collection system so it looks like you helped me make over a thousand caps last night getting half of Megaton drunk."

J.R. shook his head, this was what he hated about the man he was born too, "I'm sure those caps will make you happy, dad."

"Damn straight, more caps equals more investments," continued Moriarty as he clapped his son on the back, "and while you can't buy happiness, it sure makes life a lot easier."

"Amen," said Jericho as he slung back his flask.

"Junior, you remember Jericho, right?" Asked Moriarty Senior.

"I remember you hated the retired murderer," said J.R. was strong stare at former raider.

"I'm not old enough to retire," rejoined Jericho, his voice like gravel from years of smoking and whiskey drinking.

"He's proved useful in recent years," continued Moriarty with a sympathetic nod to his sheriff, "but I have some business that's going to take me away from Megaton for the day, I'd appreciate it if you tagged along with Jericho for awhile. You and I will catch up soon, better than what we did yesterday."

"I'd rather stick with you, dad," J.R. forced himself to say, "what is this business meeting for anyways?"

"Just your typical watering hole business," said Moriarty as he took another sip of water, "but the deal was for me to be there with a certain amount of people, and I'm sorry Junior, but you need to stay here. Jericho will show you how Megaton has started to grow under me. Hell, you should show him the prison!"

"That'll be fun," agreed Jericho with a inhuman smile, "I was going to check on the guards anyway."

"What do you mean expanding Megaton," pushed J.R.

"Oh, I'll show you boy," said Jericho as he stood up, "but you might want to bring a weapon. You know, for safety."

Zimm had walked up to the top platform to get to the water processing plant. The large building held the purification of the town's water supply, along with the running water system. It was the life blood of Megaton, taking the moisture from the air, along with the water collected from the raining season, and holding it in a reservoir to be used through out the year. Zachary Zimm knew nothing of Walter, the lead engineer and plant maintainer, but if anyone knew of a working communication unit within Megaton, it would be him.

He knocked on the corrugated metal door, making it clang against it's metal door posts. There was no answer for a few minutes so he knocked again. The door opened to a black man with white hair and beard, his weathered face denoting his advanced age, in an engineer jumpsuit. The man looked Zimm up and down and then around him before pulling him inside.

"What do you want," he asked abruptly.

"Sir, I was just wondering if you knew where I could find a transmitter of some kind or maybe a holotape writer," answered Zimm.

"No," said Walter as he began to Zimm out the door, "good day."

"Sir, please, I think you'd know, you're the chief engineer here," said Zimm as he was being tossed out the door.

"Check with Moira Brown," he said as he got Zach to the threshold, "on ramp down, Craterside Supply, good day."

"Uh, thank you," Zimm said to the closed door at his face as he walked down the ramp to the supply store.

He opened the door to Craterside Supply and stepped in. The first person to catch his attention was an attentive mercenary that leaned against a wall with his arms cross. The rifle on his back and the gun strapped to his him made him armed enough to take down a few people at a time. Behind the counter of the store was Moira Brown. She had dark red hair and freckles on her pale complexion, she wore an engineer uniform like Walter.

"Hi there, don't mind him, just some protection for those that want to steal from me," she greeted cheerily, "I'm Moira Brown and this the Craterside Supply. You're one of those guys that Moriarty threw the party for last night. That was something else, wasn't it? I don't remember getting so many free drinks from Moriarty like that, but once I heard that you brought little Colin back I had to go and check it out. I didn't catch your name, is it true you and little Colin are mercenaries?"

Zimm tried to follow the fast paced voice but found himself unable to, "uh, yea...name's not too important, but nice to meet you. Walter told me to stop by..."

"Ol' Walt is a great guy," started Moira as she polished her counter top, "knows about machines, pressurized systems, and steam works. But I guess you have to if you want to be the water processing manager and engineer. Heard he's trying to teach Leo Stahl the trade, maybe as a way to give him some discipline, or maybe so he can make some extra caps. So why did Walter send you to me?"

Utterly confused, Zach tried to press on, "I was looking for a transmitter or holotape writer."

"Transmitters in town are hard to come by, you need a large amount of power and Megaton just get's enough from the turbines. Hmmm, getting a transmitter here wouldn't be a bad idea, maybe I could make a broadcast to give other music options," thought Moira Brown out loud, Zimm cleared his throat, "oh right, sorry. I...I tend to do that with good ideas, and even some not so great ideas. But you never know til you try, right? But for a holotape writer, that's easy. The Late Sheriff, Lucas Simms, had one in his house. I'm sure it's still there since Harden runs the house."

"Harden runs the Simms house?" Asked Zimm for confirmation.

"Well of course Harden runs the Simms house, he is Lucas' only son after all," she said as if everyone knew, "try knocking on the door or waiting till he returns, I'm sure he'll let you use the holotape writer."

"Is there any delivery service out here," he asked finally before leaving.

"Like a postal service, hardly, though that would be a great idea now that I think about it," she said as she began to stare off past the far wall, "oh sorry, I keep on doing that, don't I? Well, no, there isn't a delivery service out here, anyways. Usually you just ask one of the caravan traders when they come buy to deliver a message for you if you pay them enough caps and the place is on their route."

Zimm nodded, "Moira, you've been more then helpful. Thank you."

"Your welcome," she said as she waved as he started to leave, "good luck getting that holotape writer and come back now, you hear."

Zimm made his way to Lucas Simms house and knocked on the door. With no answer, he leaned against the exterior wall and waited for the owner, Harden Simms, to come back.

Roe walked down the stairs to the local church. He had heard of the Church of the Children of Atom, from caravan traders and when he rode the routes himself, but never had he stepped into the church itself. It was simple pews and podium, along with living chambers for those that followed this way of salvation. Roe could not agree with it, the idea of universes within universes was beyond his thought for he only saw the present.

But he was not looking to be converted to the Church of the Children of Atom, he was looking for those who had preformed the burial rites on Lucas Simms. The Church, as the only major religion within Megaton, was also responsible for burials. The usual burial site was a hill top to the south west of the city, where the soil was softer and gave a great view over the Potomac and downtown. He walked up to the first pew and sat down. Not soon after he sat down that an middle aged black woman with white hair sat down next to him.

"Welcome, child of atom," she said, not looking at him but ahead to the podium, "I am Mother Maya, wife to Confessor Cromwell, we tend the flock here at Megaton."

"It is good to see the Church of the Children of Atom has a strong following," answered Roe as turned to look at the woman, "but I am not here to convert, Mother Maya."

"Nor am I here to force it upon you," she answered with a kind smile and twinkle in her eyes, "we are not like that other group that used to be a sect of our own church."

"There are militant members of the Church, Mother," asked Roe trying to piece the ideas together.

"I hesitate to call them militant, dear child," she replied softly, "but they have sought to force the power of Atom on the people. That is not the way of his will, but to convince them otherwise seems unlikely. That is not why you are here though."

"No, Mother, it is not," answered Roe truthfully, "I am here because of the late Sheriff, Lucas Simms."

"He was a good man," she looked Roe in the eyes with clear pain, "a good man that was taken into Atom's arms too soon. He has been sorely missed this past year. I do not wish to speak ill of the new Sheriff, but he has not be too friendly to the children of Atom; however, Atom still smiles upon him."

"How did Simms die," asked Roe, directly to the point, "the real answer, not the rumor. As the burial tenders, the Church should know."

"It was I who bathed him and wrapped him for burial," a tear leaked down her cheek as she brushed it away, "he had been shot five times in the lower back, the bullets had rattled around inside...the muzzle burns were on the skin...I wish Atom had taken him another way that would have not been as painful."

Roe noted mentally that the weapon had been close, caused internal damage and bleeding, and was suppressed as no one claims to have heard it, "do you have any idea who might have committed such an act?"

"One person comes to mind, because of his interest in the gift from Atom," said Mother Maya as she took out a piece of paper, "I tried to talk with him once, but he yelled at me for my dirtiness and told me that I would see the next universe myself."

She handed the piece of paper to Roe and it simply read: Mister Burke. He tucked it into his inner jacket pocket and stood up. He thanked Mother Maya and made a small donation to the church before walking out the door.

Operative Hannah Newton and Knight Ban were walking down the road after having made the right turn at Farragut West Metro Station. The road was broken with a lot of debris as they continued to walk, getting closer to where Hannah had marked out the Friendship Heights Settlement. As they continued they decided to split the street, walking on each side and keeping their eyes peeled ahead of them. There was a feeling of tension in the air, the lack of noise made the hair on the back of Ban's neck stand at end.

They came to see five upturned cars forming a wall behind the Metro entrance. On top was a scout in ragged clothing with an overcoat. He scanned the old street slowly turning to where the two members of the Brotherhood of Steel had just come from.

"Hurry up," he barked as he turned around yelled out an order bellow, "get through the gate quickly!"

The one area that did not have a car on it slide open, Ban and Newton rushed to it and into the settlement. They looked around to see the former raiders covered in dirt filth as they went about their chores. Two others with power armor were easy to spot, they were huddled over a map with a bald woman with twin bandoliers. Newton and Ban walked to them and removed their helmets.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes," said Schieber as padded Newton on the shoulder.

"Heard you two didn't make it back to Bigsley," said Ban as he nodded to settlement leader.

"Boadicea," she introduced herself.

"Ban," he answered as he turned to the other Operatives, "what seems to be the problem."

"Super mutants keep attacking," answered Boadicea, "usually in packs of two or three. They've been quiet for nearly a day, something is up."

"We're thinking they're amassing more numbers," answered LaCroix.

"My scouts have made it back and said that they were able to find them fifty meters out and to the east," Boadicea pointed to a ruin area on the map, "but they are well fortified there, better than we are."

"The ruins to the north would be great for sniping," answered Newton as she pointed to the high rising ruins near the parking lot.

"I can't risk having any of my men separated," the chieftain answered.

"We have an area of defense here," said Schieber as he point to the wall, "while not the best, it is suitable."

"So you suggest we wait for them to attack," answered Ban, "I'm not sure I like that."

"It's better now that we have more fire power," pointed out LaCroix to Ban's laser rifle, "but after their initial retreat, we should keep on engaging in groups."

"How man would be left behind for defense," asked the older Knight with more battle field experience."

"Ten men, with the better amount of supplies and weapons," replied Boadicea, "we can't risk losing either, specially if they mutties attack in teams."

"So three fire teams," answered Ban as he drew on the map in pencil of three circles moving and replacing each other at points, "stop, reload and allow another to advance giving cover fire. Could work, but if they swing around..."

"My men can hold them off," said Boadicea firmly to the Knight.

"THEY'RE COMING!" Shouted the sentry from up top as he ducked down.

"Let's hope so," said Ban as he put on his helmet.

Seven defenders climbed the wall at the ladders and began to fire, Schieber made certain he was one of them. The first wave were three super mutants with sledgehammers and grenades. One was taken down right away with a rifle shot from the closest settlement defender. The next muttie pulled the pin in the grenade, but Schieber was able to shoot it out of the creatures right hand, causing it to hit the ground and explode. The shrapnel sunk into the leg of the super mutant as it continued to limp forward, wielding it's sledgehammer. Soon it's head was removed from it's genetically altered body. The last mutant had lobbed a grenade at the door, but it had hit the rim and bounced off into the settlement.

One of the defenders fell onto the grenade just as it exploded, the concussion force and shrapnel tearing apart the abdominal cavity. Another defender quickly ran up to the ladder just as the final super mutant was shot down before it could reach the wall. Two of the other defenders from the back decided to retrieve their fallen brethren, as they picked him up by his arms and legs, his shredded insides poured out onto the concrete. The bile from his stomach, blood from his guts, and gaseous waste from his intestines spread through out the camp making everyone gag, and lift up their shirts to cover their mouths and noses.

The Operatives in their power armor were thankful for the airtight seals. Schieber, thought, was kicking himself for not having fixed it in the down time he was there. He regretted the acidic and foul stench that was filling his suit and stung his eyes, but he kept focus as he blinked and sweated. The next wave of super mutants were fast approaching, three more but this time with hunting rifles. The mutants took their aim from far off and fired into the metal cars. Several defenders ducked behind the wall despite the bad aim from the mutants.

Unable to stand it any long, Schieber removed his helmet with one hand and threw it off. The sweat poured freely from his brow as the inescapable stench of death lessened from his nostrils. He took aim with his R91, staring down the sight to the center mutant and squeeze the trigger as he held it to the battlement. The first thee shots missed, but the next three impacted with the creatures skull, exploding half of it outwards from the eye. The pot shots from the mutants were getting better aimed as they approached.

Ban ran over and kicked one of the defenders off the wall and aimed for one of the mutants. His laser beam shot true and burnt a hole through the neck of one of the approaching super mutants. The final one was taken down by both Schieber and Ban perforating it thoroughly. The super mutants kept on coming, flooding in file by file. Ban turned to behind the wall.

"Get more men, weapons, and ammo to the front, now!" He ordered as those that stood behind at the ready, "we have some meat to grind!"


	5. Fettered Freedom

The Lighthouse Perspective

Chapter 5: Fettered Freedom

The air was dusty as the wind shifted the top soil and blew it against any exposed skin. The walls of Megaton protected from the dust storms and raiders. As he followed Jericho wrapping a cloth around his face to cover his mouth and nose. The former raider did not apply such protection to his face, he did take out a cigarette and lit it. Breathing in deep as the rattle of the gears closed the gate to Megaton behind them, Jericho rubbed his stubble and turned to J.R.

"Can't stand some grit in your teeth, kid," he commented as he began to walk forward.

J.R. ignored it and followed the raider at a distance, "so where are we going to?"

"Springvale," answered the raider as he flicked the butt of his cigarette into the rocks, "grew a little bit since you've been away."

J.R. decided to reserve judgment until it came into view. As they walked down the hill on the relatively intact road. The ruins of Springvale, the former skeletons of a close-nit suburb, had been revitalized. Sheet metal had been nailed and posted to the frames creating whole buildings and houses with two floors. Several residents were walking on the streets and entering different buildings. The first building to the left looked more planned out than the rest, along with the corrugated sheet metal that was nailed to walls and studs, the sign affixed to the front of the building read: Holy Light Monastery. The were several guards that walked around as well, clearly former raiders by their dirty looks, overly tanned skin, and course leather armor that was there uniform; the residents on the other hand all had one thing in common.

"Are those all...," began J.R. in shock.

"Welcome to Springvale, the ghoul suburb of Megaton," answered Jericho in his gravelly voice as he lit up another cigarette, "every since those monastery dummies set up shop here, ghouls have been flocking to this little corner of hell."

"Why here," asked J.R. as he looked at the Megaton Sheriff.

"Something about the freedom and acceptance those religious prick teach," continued Jericho as they walked in to the town more, it was really not bigger than the t-section of road that had been cleared up, "they began to build and set up business, good ol' Moriarty wouldn't allow that to happen without getting a cut though, see the pens."

Jericho pointed to a large area that used to be a play ground that had whit picket fencing all around with several head of brahmin, "the ghouls were good herders, increased the milk and meat industry between here, Megaton and the Vaulties. But the Mayor also knew that there is gold in brahmin shit, got the ghouls to start gathering and producing jet. Sure they get some caps tossed to them, but most of the money goes to your father and some to helping out Megaton. Hell, without that brahmin shit and the jail, I would be able to pay my deputies."

"I guess that's a good thing," commented J.R. as he noticed the one human, besides Jericho's deputies, "what's that guy's story."

"He's one of those damn religious types," answered Jericho as they turned right and heading north down main street, the old garage was turned into an outside dinner, "that place is Wint's Watering Hole, only place here the zombies can get some grub and drink."

One of the ghouls that was walking by on the street was affronted and turned to Jericho, "Hey, smoothskin, you should learn some...oh," he finished mid-sentence as Jericho tapped the six pointed star on his leather armor, and decided to cut his losses and walk away.

"Sometimes they need to be reminded who is the law," said Jericho with a little smile.

"Besides your deputies and the cultists, are they any other humans here?" Asked J.R. in concern.

"There are two other places where there are humans," said the Sheriff as they reached the end of the street before it broke left and right, "up on the hill is Silver's Den, Moriarty took pride in that, he's half owner of the wasteland's best brothel. And in front of us is Mister Crowley's Games and Cards, probably the only casino in the wasteland, again your father is a half owner. My boys like to spend most of their time either there playing the games, or in the whore house indulging themselves."

"Seems like security would be an issue," commented J.R. as they past buy the flashing neon lights on the building, "I'd imagine it get's pretty rowdy."

"People like to have their fun, kid," agreed Jericho as they walked down and J.R. read the painted sigh that was attached to the former announcement board for Springvale Elementary School: Springvale Prison, "but we have a good deterrent for that."

"A prison," nodded J.R. at the half destroyed building that stood near the water, there two sentries outside the double doors.

"Main entrance is around the side," said Jericho as they nodded to the sentries, "let me go first, so you don't get shot, kid. I'm not looking to have your father upset at me."

Roe walked up to the house that J.R. had pointed out as being Lucas Simms' place. He saw that Zimm was standing outside of the door. He walked up to his colleague, Daniel Roe pointed to the door with his chin. Zachary Zimm shook his head, not moving from his spot. Dan decided to lean against the wall on the opposite side of the door.

"I think I have a lead about, Simms," said Roe.

"What is it," asked Zimm as he looked at the other Operative.

"I need to flesh it out some more, see if it holds up," answered Roe, "I was hopping to get in to the house."

"Simms' son, Harden, owns the place now," justified Zach for why they were waiting outside, "I was told by the local merchant that the town's only holotape writer was inside."

"That can't be a coincidence," commented Roe as he rubbed his chin, "seems that there is more going on here, don't you think?"

"I dunno," Zimm was earnest, "it could be nothing, but it seems J.R.'s father has definitely benefited from Simms' death. The guy is crooked, for certain, but a murderer?"

"He's capable from what I gather," Roe looked Zimm in the eye to see if it registered.

"Again, I dunno," answered the other Operative, "it could be connected, it could be a coincidence, or we could be reading into it. But for what it's worth, Moriarty Senior doesn't seem like one to get his hands dirty directly."

"Not now, anyways," Roe cracked his knuckles as they continued to wait.

A short boy no older than twelve approached them from Zimm's side. He looked at the two men standing outside the door. The boy pushed back his long coat to show the gun on his hip. Roe and Zimm looked closely into the black kids eyes, occasionally glancing down at the piece holstered to his hip.

"Heard you were looking for me," said the kid in a passive voice, "come to finish what you started with my dad?"

"That's not us," answered Roe firmly, "in fact we wanted to talk with you, I'm Roe. Daniel Roe."

"Knowing your name doesn't make it harder to shoot you," replied the kid as his thumb caressed the handle of the pistol.

"Harden, Harden Simms?" Asked Zimm as he held his hands up slowly.

"Yea, that's me," answered the twelve year old as he squinted his eyes.

"We looking to investigate the death of your father, Lucas Simms," continued Zimm, "and I was told you had a holotape writer."

"Only one in Megaton, dad thought it would be best to have one," said the kid, "I'd be much obliged for you two gentlemen to put your pistols on the ground. Only using two fingers, can't take a risk."

Roe and Zimm took out their pistols holding them by the grips with their index and thumbs as they placed them on the ground slowly, "can we talk now, Harden."

"Not out here, get inside first," he tossed a key to Zimm as he began to pick up the pistols, "can't be too careful."

Harden followed the two men into his house holding there guns, he kicked the door shut and pointed to the two seats, "please, sit down."

"Harden, we need to find out information about your father, if we're going to solve this," said Roe as he sat down across from Zimm, his own gun trained on him by the kid.

"Not much I can tell you," answered the kid.

"We weren't expecting that," continued Roe, "but if you allowed us to check through his stuff..."

"I don't think I can allow that," commented the kid as he kept both operatives in his sites, "you see, I don't know you two, and I don't let strangers rummage through my property."

"We're mercenaries," answered Roe, "as I'm sure you've heard. Seems news travels fast."

"Depends on who you talk to, specially if it's Moira Brown," Harden was looking into Zimm's eyes.

"I asked around to find a way to communicate with our headquarters, will you allow me to use the holotape writer," asked Zimm.

"Depends on the price," said Harden as he twirled the pistol in his left hand, "how about twenty caps."

"How about ten?" Haggled Zimm.

"How about twenty and I don't deposit a bullet in your brain," Harden had cocked his head to the side.

"Uhm, deal," said Zimm as he untied his pouch and poured out twenty caps on the table.

Harden Simms collected the caps and pocketed them, "up stairs, second door on the left."

Zimm nodded and walked up the stairs, Harden sat across from Roe and laid one of the pistols on the table, "tell me what you know about my dad's murder."

Operative Lolli Pop slowly came out of his drug induced coma. He gained his bearings quicker than before, though he didn't expect his surroundings to change much. He tried to lift his arms and realized he was tied down still. The doctor was in the room looking at his patients, he turned to Pop and held onto the edge of the gurney.

"Welcome back," said the doctor as he held onto a chart, "your vitals are fine and we could release you, but considering how you reacted last time, I hesitate to do that."

"What do you plan on doing to me," asked Lolli with trepidation.

"What do you mean? Oh, right, because I was Enclave," answered the doctor with a jovial smile, "you shouldn't worry about that, I've defected since the take over of Adams Air Force Base. You Brotherhood did a number on us there, but it's better to be alive."

"So, what does that make you," Pop was slightly confused.

"Well, I was the head surgeon at Adams, but here I'm just the town physician," he answered calmly.

"You're the doctor for Grayditch," Pop confirmed as he thought out loud.

"Doctor Gordon J. Hopkins," answered the former Enclave doctor, "at your service."

"About Lesko," pushed Lolli.

"You should be worried about that," answered Hopkins, "cause if we lose him, I don't know if we can protect you two here."

"What do you mean," Lolli was getting concerned.

"The town heard what happened," confirmed the doctor, "and with my rudimentary equipment, there might be no way to save him. As of right now, the only thing separating an angry mob and you are Mendel and myself. The Knights are still needed outside."

"Why are people so upset over Lesko, they thought he was a creep," thought Pop out loud.

"True, a lot of people didn't trust him," conceded Hopkins, "but he did get the ants to be more docile and not breath fire. They've made good for raising, eating, and trading their meat. Some are fearing that if Lesko dies, so to will the docile ants."

"Look, I need you to contact a family here," Pop was thinking fast, "I know the LaCroix's daughter, she's a comrade of ours. Tell the LaCroix family that some friends of Anna are here."

"I'll pass along note," agreed the doctor.

"When can Alvarado be moved," asked Lolli as he looked at his friend, Hopkins undid the bindings on his wrist and legs.

"Not for awhile," answered the doctor, "the plasma pinch did some real damage, I don't know the extent of the nerve damage, so he's in a chemically induced coma to alleviate the pain. He'd be dead wait to move in his current condition."

Pop swung his legs over the side and stood up rubbing his wrists, "I need to find out more about Lesko, and then get the hell out of here."

Hopkins put a hand on Pop's chest to stop him from leaving, "I can't let you do that."

"Why the hell not, doc?" Pop push the hand from his chest.

"They're out there now," he said with a cold look in his eyes, "and I told them there was a biological containment you were all exposed to. You step a foot out that door, they will realize I lied, and then they'll string you and your friend up."

"So what can I do, how can this be solved," asked Pop, panic in his voice.

Hopkins handed him the notebook, "go over you information and double check. All I know was that Lesko was not Enclave, never gave him a check up. He came in with some good tech, a little more advanced then our own, and a great backing in genetics and genetic engineering."

"What if I find something?" Asked Pop.

"Then the crowd can be swayed from what they want to do," answered Hopkins.

"And if I don't find anything?" Pressed Pop.

"Pray that Lesko regains consciousness and doesn't die," Pop gulped loudly with Hopkins' pronouncement.

Elias was in the servant quarters, the raider girl that had not spoke in over a week was with him. She was lying on her back, looking to the bunk above, her eyes drying out and blinking rarely. Elias had water in a cup and was sitting in a chair next to the girl, he put a straw in the cup and placed the other end in the girls mouth. She did not suck on the straw to drink the water.

"Little one, you must drink," said Elias, knowing she wasn't going to respond.

He put his finger into the cup and took out his wet finger. He then rubbed it against the woman's lips, moistening them. The raider girl instinctively licked her lips and took in the water. Elias continued to apply the water to her lips so she was able to get hydration. The other option would have to be an intravenously provided saline pack.

Kimi Mahal walked into the room, "Elias, you're preventing the inevitable."

"Kimi, nothing is inevitable, just possible," he answered serenely.

"She's going to die," the former raider was firm in her words.

"I have faith," replied Elias.

"You have too much faith," Kimi dismissed the older man.

"And you have none," rejoined Elias, he rubbed the bandage on his leg.

"What do you gain with faith," Kimi nodded to the gunshot wound, "because I rather not have holes in me."

"But you do have a whole in you," Elias point to her chest, "it is in your heart, and without faith this hole will consume it."

Kimi batted away Elias finger, "old man, you don't know what you're talking about. Your tribal superstitions have clouded your mind."

"Do not impugn my beliefs," Elias began moistening the lips of the raider girl again, "faith is a good quality to have, that is one of the advancement us tribals from the Eastern Shore have that is lacked in this Capital Wasteland."

"You're just a cultist that is going to drag the rest of us down," Kimi turned and was at the doorway.

"Kimi, I fear it is you that will lead to our deaths," he said shaking his head.

She ran back to confront Elias, "how dare you! I would never see my people die! I wasn't the one that sat by idly as my wife was killed! By the same people that give you orders no less!"

He stood up and stared her right in the eyes, "you have no right to talk of Hasna! She was of my ilk, not yours. The path you lead is one of revenge, lies, and death! For shame on you, Kimi!"

Shouting back at him, "Old man, you are blind! You actively work with your wife's murderers and expect to have a future. Your only future is death, at their hands!"

"For shame, Kimi!" Shouted Elias, holding his leg to balance himself as he did not raise himself with his crutches, "You damn the dead with your tongue, and seek to kill all those that are here. For shame!"

"You should check to see how many side with you before you make decisions for us," she shouted back, the raider girl on the bed had pulled her knees to her chest and rocked back and forth crying.

Elias rubbed the raider girl's back and soothed her, "hush, child, it's alright. Kimi, leave."

Kimi leaned in and whispered in his ear, "mark my words, you'll be joining your wife soon enough; these murderers can't be trusted and if you side with them, you, Elias, can no longer be trusted."

"Leave, Kimi," repeated Elias as he rubbed the raider girl's back; Kimi left the room and closed the door, "it's okay child, it's okay. Hush now."

The siege of Friendship Heights Settlement had been on going for hours. Wave after wave of super mutants had attacked the wall. The defenders, the former raiders, Brotherhood Operatives and lone caravan guide kept the walls defended, the wounded treated and the dead covered. The smell of death of was in the air, the settlement had suffered three casualties; however the super mutant corpses littered the outside of the settlement had started to pile up. And they kept on attacking, without abatement.

Schieber and Ban were taking a break, getting some hydration while Newton and LaCroix guarded the wall with the former raiders. The caravan guide was milking his cow, making certain that there was a nutritious drink available for the defenders. Schieber combed his hair back with his gloved hand.

"Do you think there is going to be a climax," asked Quin Schieber.

"Like a Behemoth," clarified Ban.

"Yea, maybe," Schieber said as he turned to his weapon and began to clean it, "this siege seem to have been like a crescendo to some opera..."

"A local that knows music, I'm impressed," commented Ban as he was cleaning his crystal array in his laser rifle, "where did you pick up that knowledge?"

"Everyone in my family tends to be a jack of all trades," Schieber was smiling as he cleaned his rifle as screaming super mutants gave their dying breath, "one of my sisters was great at music, she was a little virtuoso. Probably the hardest thing I ever did was decide to volunteer, leaving behind my family."

"So what happened to her," asked Ban as he put his weapon back together.

"I'm sorry," Schieber was pulled out of his nostalgia.

"You said was, past tense," replied Ban as he looked into Schieber's eyes, both men had removed their helmets.

"Swampfolk," answered Quin Schieber as he bit his lower lip, "came into the family orchard, Octavia was collecting food for dinner. We didn't know one of the fences had fallen, the captured her and took back to their camp. By the time my brothers and I got there, those inbred squishy head beasts had gang raped her to death. My brothers and I killed them all..."

"You don't have to talk about it," said Ban, the closet form of compassion and empathy in his face, "if it's too hard..."

"It's not hard to talk about, I don't regret killing them," answered the Operative, "I enjoyed killing them for what they did. Octavia would have wanted it that way."

"How old were you," Ban had grabbed both of their helmets.

"I was fifteen when it happened, Octavia was thirteen," answered Schieber, "I'm twenty-one now, Octavia would have been nineteen."

"Where are you from, Schieber," Ban was curious of this soldier, of his fortitude, and of his history.

"Drayden," he answered, "northwest of Point Lookout."

"What kind of place is Drayden," asked Ban, knowing that Point Lookout was the place where the new fruit item, punga, was being grown and shipped from.

"Drayden is a close nit community, family based," Schieber said, the smile returning to his face, "access to the river is a bit tough, some use simple rafts or row boats. My family focuses on food growing for the community. Other families, though, they ranch brahmin, hunt 'lurks, or try to make machines work again."

"So you're a farmer," said Ban as he reattached his helmet.

Schieber was checking the seals on his power helmet, "my family are, for the most part. But the brahmin shit didn't agree with me. I felt the need to get out, travel."

"I understand," said Ban as he stood up, Schieber put his helmet back on, "let's check the wall."

Ban and Schieber approached the walled structure of Friendship Heights Settlement. Newton and LaCroix were standing together at the wall. There were over twenty dead super mutants littering the front of the defenses. The two women Operatives were maintaining watch, the super mutants had pulled away for the moment to regroup. LaCroix turned Newton.

"How are you for ammo," she asked as LaCroix checked her supply.

"I'm alright for now," answered Newton as she tapped a clip to her metal covered thigh, "how are you doing?"

"I have three clips, so I should be alright," agreed LaCroix, "do you think we're going to be here more than a day?"

"I hope not," answered Newton, "but you and Schieber have already been here for a day."

"I forgot about that, it's been a long time since I slept," Anna LaCroix took off her helmet.

"Go grab some shut eye, take Schieber with you," coaxed the other Operative, "Ban and I can handle this."

LaCroix walked down and saw Schieber and Ban heading to the wall; she grabbed his arm, "Quin, lets get some rest."

"Don't keep the lady waiting," joked Ban as he thumped Schieber in the back with his shoulder.

Schieber was silent as he walked with LaCroix to the tent, taking of his helmet. Ban walked up to the post with Newton snickering under his breath. She looked back as both Schieber and LaCroix went to one of the settlement tents to rest. Ban chambered a fresh microfusion cartridge, thanking that he bought more ammo back at Underworld.

"How many days do you think we'll be here?" She asked the man with more experience.

"Well, we're good for now," he answered honest, "enough food, ammo and water for a few days. But I'm thinking of an escape plan if we need to abandon the settlement."

"Have you told Boadicea and Aden yet?"

Ban shook his head as he looked at the former raider leader and her right hand man, "I'm still thinking about it, no real plan yet. When we get a plan, we'll let them know, but I'm sure they're thinking about it as well."

The entrance to the side of the building where a lot of structural damage was done. The hole in the wall was reinforced by two metal columns that were built flush to the wall and an wrought iron gate. The metal sign above the metal columns read: Chains and cages do not conquer the enemy. J.R. was introduced to the warden of the Springvale Prison, he was a stocky man that was another former raider friend of Jericho named Ashkelon. The upper part of the building were his offices, library, and living quarters for the guards. The basement level was the holding area for what he called the extremely dangerous prisoners.

The basement was also where the worst treatment for the prisoners was located. The prison, like many other placed in Springvale, had a way to make money through the selling of ant meat. However, unlike the docile hive of ants at Grayditch, these were hostile ants. To be assigned on ant duty, was a death sentence. It was reserved for the most sever offenders that killed in cold blood, or stole major property. The cells on the first floor, where the majority of the prisoners were held, housed the most common crime committed in Megaton and Springvale: debtors.

Emaciated and thinly clothed, it was easy for J.R. to see their ribs through their shirt as they stuffed nearly twenty people in to each fifteen foot by fifteen foot cell. There was no room to lie down, unless they laid on each other, the only toilets were rusted buckets with no privacy. The stench was foul, and the prisoners were pitiful, but the guards showed no emotion to them. J.R. was walking behind the warden and Jericho, not really listening as fork was tossed through one of the cell bars.

J.R. leaned down and picked up with his right hand, his jacket slipping a little, as he held his hand to return the fork to the prisoner the gaunt man that had thrown the fork grabbed J.R.'s wrist and pulled him to the cell, "you need to get me out of here. Go to Grayditch, get Hopkins, tell him Cushing sent you."

"I'm sorry, what?" J.R. was shocked as he stared into the pasty white man's dead black eyes.

"Get Hopkins, Grayditch, Brotherhood," panted the prisoner with weak energy.

The warden and Jericho had turned back to see J.R pulled against the cell. They ran forward, Ashkelon removed his baton and jammed it in the prisoner named Cushing's stomach. The man collapsed forward, his head resting against bars. The warden then hit him in the back of the head, knocking him unconscious. He checked on J.R. and asked if he was okay, the Operative nodded and tightened his jacket around him, nervously.

"What we have here is a failure to communicate," announced Ashkelon, "prisoners do not have rights. What you have are privileges given by me and my guards. The better you all act, the better you all are treated. One of you acts out of turn, causes a disturbance, or attacks anyone than you all are punished. Because of this man, you are now all on half rations for a week!"

All the prisoners groaned as the prisoner Cushing was unconscious on the cell floor. J.R. was rubbing his wrist, where the boney fingers had grasped him tightly. His head was spinning and he became lost in his own thought. _Grayditch? What's at Grayditch, who is this Hopkins?_ He thought, his face completely blank.

"Inmate rattled your bell, huh," said Jericho in his gravel voice.

"What? Yea, sure," answered J.R. dismissively, _I'm going to have to send a note to Alvarado and Pop at Grayditch._

A/N: I tend not to write too many of these because I rather have the reader interpret what I write; but as the story progresses, there are some points of information that I would like to point out. (1) Naming is very important to me, and like other writers, I use names to fill in details of and characteristics of my characters. Dr. Gordon J. Hopkins get's his name from John Hopkins, both the man and the institute; Ashkelon is both a real and biblical city, like that of Jericho. (2) The Columbia Commonwealth, or Capital Wasteland, incorporates a larger area and population than what is covered in Fallout 3. There have been multiple references to the Eastern Shore, an area of Maryland that is sometimes separatist. Quin Schieber is from a town name Drayden, which does exist in Maryland and is located to the north-west of Point Lookout. The purpose of setting their community up as a self sustaining area where food, shelter, and social connection is available along with the harshness of the post-apocalyptic world. As the novellas progress, we will visit more areas and distant lands. (3) The metal sign above the Springvale prison draws from the famous sign above the Auschwitz concentration camp, _arbeit macht frei _(work makes you free); however, I paraphrased a quote from Thomas Hobbes for the sign, "He that is taken and put into prison or chains is not conquered, though overcome; for he is still an enemy," from the conclusion of Leviathan. (4) I have written the last chapter already along with a skeleton outline of how this story progresses. I look favorably upon comments, critiques, and criticism. Please review, or write a personal message to my account. Either way will be great. Any feed back helps my plot progression. Thank you for reading, and I look forward to entertaining you all more.


	6. BCSS Justice

The Lighthouse Perspective

Chapter 6: BCSS Justice

Harkness was in the communication tower above the living quarters of the Rivet City Security Force barracks. Commander Danvers had stationed him there ever since the murder of two quests in the science lab under his watch. No one seemed to know who had committed the act, but green goo that needed to be mopped off the floor indicated that some how a plasma weapon had been involved. Officer Lepelletier had been vetted, she didn't receive her advanced weaponry until after Project Purity had been reclaimed. Harkness on the other hand was not accounted for, nor did he have his former plasma rifle, and he was not about inform his superior what he had done.

Rivet City was home for Harkness, he reveled as he checked the frequency of the receivers, it was not where he was created but it was where he was accepted. Dr. Zimmer and his robotic body guard, Armitage, were a threat to his life, his freedom, and his new found happiness. Harkness' only regret was that he did not pull the trigger himself against his former creator and slave master, instead he had allowed another to complete that task. The sentient android shook his head as he threw the headphones on the counter. He kicked his feet up and leaned back, _the only reason I wasn't shot off the port-side was because they were foreigners_, he thought as he counted his luckily stars. Shortly after his internal investigation, Danvers had demoted him and assumed the position of head of security along with her duties as head of the security force.

A Brotherhood of Steel Scribe and Knight walked into the communication tower, along with the security assistance and technological trade, the facilities of Rivet City had been opened to them. Harkness didn't mind, they were Lepelletier and Danver's issues now. He was safe, secure, happy despite his demotion. Nothing could really take that from him.

"Hail," greeted the Knight as they sat down in the corner, their weapon just for show as Rivet City was secure.

"Greetings," answered Harkness as he sat up, putting his feet on the floor.

"Any chatter," asked the Scribe as he took a seat and brushed his long hair back.

"Just from Citadel Control," continued Harkness as he turned his headphones back to his ear, "nothing good, just security checks."

"I swear we don't even need to be here," the Scribe was frustrated as he checked the instruments.

Harkness was flicking through the stations, "you might not, it is my job."

"It's a crap job," answered the Scribe, the Knight in the corner nodded in agreement.

Harkness thought it better not to answer as he flicked the stations hearing nothing but static. Switching from the static of channel 20A to 21A, Harkness' improved hearing could pick up a patterned pinging. He switched the channel to 22A, operating at 157.100 megahertz he could hear the transmission clearly. His memory was able to decipher the Morse code in his head, however to make certain he wrote out the message with his left hand. The pinging was clear and he realized that the only way he missed it coming in was his complacency and listlessness. Harkness kicked him self as mentally as he wrote the message out in English, his eyes growing wide fear as the message began to loop.

He looked down at what he just wrote out: BCSS Justice. Hail on channel 22A. Seek secure port. Have diplomatic envoy and pilgrims. Represent Kingdom of Brandia and Commonwealth. Please respond.

The Scribe saw Harkness staring at his paper in shock, "what do you have there?"

The android closed his mouth and folded up the paper and then clicked to another channel, "just....just a shopping list."

"You seemed very keen on that shopping list," said the Scribe as his eyes glancing the pocket in the combat pants Harkness stuffed the paper in.

"I realized I missed a dose of rad-x," lied the android, "do you mind if I step out and see Preston?"

"Sure, it's fine," said the Scribe, "not like a monkey couldn't do this job."

"Uh, thanks," answered Harkness as he walked out of the communication room.

The scribe watched Harkness walk out and then went over to the local security guard's terminal, he put on the headphones and start to turn the dial back, "let's see what spooked you, lawman."

Zachary Zimm was in Lucas Simms' study and sleep quarters. He had found the holotape writer, but no holotapes. Calmly searching through the draw, Zimm looked for blank holotapes. The last draw on the right hand side of the desk was locked. Zimm jostled the handle, but it didn't get loose, he checked to make sure the door was closed and removed his knife.

Had he had a bobby pin and a flat head screwdriver, Zimm would have tried to pick the lock. Using his combat knife, Zimm busted open the lock with the draw flying out and getting stopped in its tracks. Inside were piles of holotapes, folders, and scoped .44 magnum. Zimm pulled the gun out first and examined it, finding that live rounds were inside he decided to take them out. He then picked up the holotapes and saw a scrawl written on them.

_Sonora Cruz_, read Zimm in his mind as he flipped through holotape after holotape. Nearly all of the messages were addressed to this one person with various dates on them. However, Zimm wouldn't know what they were unless he read them. Finding no blank holotapes to start writing, he decided to start with the most recent and latest one dated August 17, 2277. Popping it into the holotape writer, Zimm began to read.

Down stairs, Danial Roe was with Harden Simms, having finished given his lead to son of the murdered sheriff of Megaton, "have you heard of a Mister Burke before?"

"Dad mentioned him once or twice," said Harden as he tried thinking, "I know he had to draw up papers for him."

"Papers?" Roe was intrigued, this would be a direct link between the victim and the murderer, "what kind of papers?"

"Well, for his house in Megaton," answered Harden, "yea, he bought the old Renault place, near the Brass Lantern and the Church of Atom."

"Are you saying Mister Burke has a house in Megaton," pressured Roe.

"Yea," said Harden with a nod, "dad writes up the titles of ownership himself."

"Is it difficult to get a house in the city?" Roe was concerned if Burke was still in town.

"Very, you either need someone to vouch for you and pay a butt load of caps," Harden said then he smiled, "or you need to be like the Lone Wanderer and deactivate the large nuclear bomb in the center of town."

"I heard the stories," Roe dismissed, "but how did Burke get a house here."

"I dunno, but it would be in my dad's records," answered the kid.

Roe stood up, "then that is where I need to be right now," he pointed up stairs and Simms' son nodded. Dan walked up the stairs and entered the study and sleeping area for the late Lucas Simms. Zimm turned around to see him.

"You have to check this out," said the operative that specialized in communications, "seems the Sheriff kept detailed notes he sent out weekly to another person."

"Who is this person," asked Roe as he leaned against the desk and picked up one of the holotapes.

"I dunno, he calls her commander regularly," answered Zimm as he shifted the holotapes around, "but he labels them to Sonora Cruz."

"Well, unless we find any other evidence lets assume Sonora Cruz and Simms' commander are the same person," Danial Roe nodded as he picked up the .44 magnum hand cannon, "anything interesting on the tapes."

"Lots of domestic logistics," shrugged Zach as he popped in a new holotape, "who comes in, who leaves the settlement. Lists of known criminals and bounties. Property sales, purchasers, witnesses to the contracts."

Roe perked up, "anything about Mister Burke?"

Zimm shuffled through a few cartridges of holotapes, pulled out one and put it the writer. The text on the screen popped up in it's luminescent green on black text. Zimm scrolled down by twisting a knob on the right, his eyes quickly scanning the text faster than Roe could read. He slowed down and stopped at section that read: November 11, 2273. Roe held his finger to the screen, his lips moving as he read, tracing his finger under the words.

"The man in the light colored suit and brimmed hat, calling himself Burke, approached me with Andy Stahl by his side. He inquired into purchasing the home near the Brass Lantern, the Stahl family's shop and house, and the cultists. Gorge Renault had passed away the previous year, five years after his wife Valeria had died. Andy Stahl vouched for Burke, who did have a healthy amount of caps to purchase the place at twice the value it was worth, subsequent to the laws of Megaton, I gave title to the old Renault home to this Mister Burke," Roe sighed before he continued to read.

"Despite my misgivings with this Burke, it is better to be able to keep track of him while he is under my jurisdiction. I am uncertain why the Stahls have gotten involved with Burke, but if his wealth has something to do with it I hope Andy has kept his wits about him. I have already used the payment from Burke to restock the armory, since the raider attack, and for Billy Creel to help negotiate primary trade relations with the caravans." Roe looked over to Zimm who was writing on a piece of paper.

"What are you doing," he asked after he finished reading a loud.

"Writing down the names that Simms talked about." Answered Zimm as he folded the paper and placed it inside of his jacket pocket.

"I say we head to the Brass Lantern," confirmed Roe as the two operatives walked down the stairs, "but we're going to need to go through every single one of these tapes. I'm going to want you to run point on that, Zach."

"We still need to get message back to the Alexandria," Zach said as they saw the young Simms eating something from can.

"What did you find," asked the kid as he looked up to the operatives walking down the steps.

Dan turned to Zach, who gave a small shrugged, "a few things we need to check up on. Nothing concrete yet."

"I'm coming with you," answered the Simms only kid as he reached for his hunting rifle and strapped it to his back.

"I don't think that would be wise," answered Zimm, Harden looked daggers into his eyes, "I'm not doubting your ability kid, I'm sure you're a great shot. But you're Simms' only child, you got to do everything to protect yourself and keep yourself alive."

"My dad is dead," Harden's words were cold as steel, "I need to know why."

"What can we do or say to convince you to let us handle it," asked Daniel as he made it to the bottom floor.

"Mr. Roe, you should know by now there is nothing you can do," said Harden as he handed back their weapons, "once I make up my mind, ain't no changing it. Son like father."

Roe nodded and Zimm just shrugged again, "fine by us, but just keep quiet and out of trouble. Let us do the talking and...what ever else needs to be done."

"Fine," said the boy as the three of them walked out the door, "where to first?"

"Time to grab some grub, so Brass Lantern," offered Roe as gave a wink to Zimm from behind the kid's back.

"Yea, sounds good to me," said Simms as the three of them turned down the main pathway of the city of Megaton.

The gates of Megaton closed quickly as Jericho and J.R. returned to the city. The stench of brahmin shit clung to the clothing of J.R. even as he removed his face covering. Jericho, the Sheriff and former raider, was not phased by the smell. They both walked forward just as a group of three people walked ahead of him. Two were those other mercenaries that came in with his boss' kid, however the third was the son of the late Sheriff of Megaton, Lucas Simms.

He called out to them, specifically directing his words to Harden, "why you bothering these merc's, boy?"

Harden stopped in his tracks, his shoulders stiffening to his head. The operatives turned around to look at Jericho and saw that J.R. was standing with him. Zach and Dan looked him in the eyes and he just shook his head a little from behind Jericho. The sheriff took a step forward.

"I know you heard me, boy," he said as Harden was still not turning around, "now answer me and respect my authority as sheriff."

"You might wear his badge," said Harden as he turned around and looked Jericho in his cold and dead eyes with fire in his spirit, "but you will never be a quarter of the man my dad was, _raider_."

Jericho grabbed Harden by the ear, twisting it back hard bringing the boy to his knees, "you will address me as sheriff," he seethed.

Harden looked with tear filled eyes to the operatives as his hand reached for the pistol on his hip. Roe looked him in his eyes and shook his head from side to side. The tears were streaming down Harden's face as he swallowed a gasping breath, removing his hand from his pistol. J.R. stepped forward and put a hand on Jericho's shoulder, the former raider turned to look at his boss' son.

"I think that's enough, Sheriff," said the man pretending to be a mercenary.

"The whelp needs to be taught some respect," the Sheriff let go of Harden's ear and pushed him to the ground with his boot.

"You've done that," said J.R. as he passed a few caps to Jericho, "go have a drink, on me. And...uhm, wait for...dad...to come back."

Jericho pulled J.R. close to whisper in his ear, the smell from his rotting teeth made the operative scowl, "I'll be up at the bar, but keep in mind my eyes will still be on you, kid."

J.R. affirmed the message as Jericho walked away. Roe and Zimm had already picked Harden up and brushed off the dust from his clothing. He joined the others, Harden was holding his ear. They walked down to the center of the city and than entered the Brass Lantern. Jenny Stahl was behind the counter where the stove to cook food was located. Roe and Zimm sat down at a table in a smooth motion. J.R. forced the young Simms to sit in a chair at the table, his eyes bore holes into the kids head.

"Jenny do you have an ice chem?" He asked with out looking at her, his eyes still fixed on Harden.

"Leo might have one or two," she answered from behind the counter.

"Would you be a doll and get it for us, Harden had an accident," he asked as his hand squeezed Harden's shoulder; the kid looked him in the eyes with defiance.

"Sure, I'll be right back," answered Jenny Stahl as she left to find her brother, Leo.

As soon as she was out of the door, J.R. tore into Harden, "what the fuck do you think you were doing back there," he asked as he pushed off from the kid and pulled a chair up to sit right in front of Harden's face.

"I was...was...,"stuttered the kid.

"You were being dumb," answered J.R. flatly, "you know the bastard Jericho was before the title, now with it you live with him being a giant ass. You know what he told me as he left? That he has eyes everywhere, all his men and residents willing to support him will be watching you if they haven't already."

"How can I talk with that man!" Shouted Harden back, finding his voice, "he has profited from my dad's death! He's guilty of murder, and he is able to get away with it every fucking day because he stole his badge before Mother Maya could put him in the hill!"

J.R. reach forward, his palm on the jawline of Harden Simms, "listen to me, Simms, listen! We know he's profited, we all know! But standing up to him like that is a sure fire way to get yourself killed. You being dead would do know one good! No one but Jericho or Moriarty would have any reason to see you dead. Don't give them a reason."

"You're a Moriarty," replied Harden, "how can I trust you?"

"The same reason you trusted us," replied Roe as he leaned forward, "but gentlemen, there is a more pressing reason as to why we're here."

"Though getting some food would be nice," commented Zimm.

"Why are we here," asked J.R. thinking that the reason they came was for food.

"Andy Stahl's name came up in the holotapes," answered Roe, Zimm took out the paper from inside his coat pocket, "because he vouched for a man named Burke, the prime suspect in Simms' murder."

"What makes him the prime suspect," asked J.R. his eyes still fixed on Harden.

"Well, this Mister Burke was treated with caution and misgiving by Sheriff Simms," answered Zimm as he read from the paper, "and on August 17, 2277, his last note was a warning from a vault dweller about a man named Mister Burke with an insidious plan..."

"That was the day dad died," commented Harden as he looked to the paper from the corner of his eye.

The door opened to the Brass Lantern as Andy and Jenny Stahl walked into their eatery; J.R., Roe, and Zimm stood up looking at Andy directly, "we need to ask you a few questions, Andy," Roe addressed Andy Stahl.

Dennis LaCroix and his wife Susan followed the local Brotherhood of Steel Scribe to the local doctor. One of the abandoned buildings on Main Street had been converted into a clinic, but with the inclusion of Dr. Hopkins, the town's medical care had increased tenfold. The man was a godsend, his bed side manners and professionalism made a check up with him easy and thorough. Dennis and Susan were confused as to why the doctor wanted to see them, at their last check up they had been given a clean bill of health even with the little irradiation they suffered.

The scribe held the back door open for them, as they entered. The crowd that had demanded to see the two visitors that injured Dr. Lesko had dispersed as the day grew longer. Two armed men still remained, they claimed to be part of the Grayditch Militia but the LaCroixs knew militia was another word for lynch mob. The second the doctor died, or the visitors tried to leave, they'd alert the other members of the so-called militia. The LaCroixs wondered why the brotherhood wasn't doing anything, but then they figured that if they did do something it would be a lose – lose situation.

The scribe asked them to sit in the waiting area, usually there were other families waiting with a hurt child that was playing in the ruins, someone that accidentally set off a bear trap near the Metro entrance, or radiation poisoning. Dennis and Susan nervously sat down in the tangerine arm chairs. Susan flipped through the two hundred year old magazines on the counter, looking for something interesting to read.

"They never get anything new," she commented softly with the corners of her lips turning up into a smile.

Dennis let out nervous chuckle, "maybe a local newspaper might be beneficial. The Grayditch Prophet, or The Grayditch Scoop, I like the ring of that."

Susan just swatted her husband's hand because of his silliness, "and what would you know about journalism, darling?"

"Absolutely nothing," replied Dennis with a smile as he held his wife's hand, they both turned to see the doctor walk in.

He sat down with them around the coffee table, his hands on his knees as he white lab coat opened wide to show his button down shirt tucked into his slacks. He had removed his tie after talking to the mob that had formed outside his door. The LaCroixs had seen him to do it while he addressed them from his stoop, assured that Lesko was a live and that the biological contamination was serious but manageable. The couple held each others hands as they looked to the doctor and asked why they were there.

He bit his lip nervously, "well, you know that biological contamination I was telling everyone about earlier? Well, I lied. There is no contamination, I just don't want the rabble to bust down my door and grab these boys."

"Doc, I'm still not understanding why we're here and..." Dennis began as the doctor held his hand up to stop the man.

"The two young men that were involved in the incident," he paused and rubbed his knees nervously, "well, they know your daughter."

"They know Anna," asked Susan in shock and confusion, "no that can't be. She's part of the Brotherhood of Steel. She volunteered for them. She's at the Citadel."

"Doc, I think you have the wrong people, or these boys are lying to you," agreed Dennis as he rubbed his wife's arm.

"If you come with me, you'll see I don't," Hopkins said as he stood up and asked the LaCroix to follow him into the next room.

Operative Lolli Pop was sitting in a chair next to the gurney where his colleague, Juan Alvarado, lay in a medically induced sleep due to a portion of his shoulder being dissolved on molecular level. Their notebooks were on the table, Pop had been searching through their notes the whole time but was unable to come up with any idea of who was Lesko. _He's not Enclave, that's for certain_, he thought as he pinched the bridge of his nose, _where the fuck do you come from, not the Capital Wasteland, nor the Enclave. How can you get all this technology? Where can you get all this technology? Your knowledge of genetics and mutations could not have come from nothing, we only started to produce the texts from the Arlington Archives. _He was broken from this thought as the door opened.

Doctor Hopkins walked in with a black man and woman dressed in a casual sweater with button down shirt and a pink dress, respectively. Pop stood up, knowing before they introduced themselves that they were the parents of his colleague Anna LaCroix. He brushed his hair hap-haphazardly with his left hand as he shook their outstretched right hand. They sat down and he answered as earnestly as he could when they asked about Anna's well being. He described their organization within the brotherhood, in simple and general terms without going into detail that could compromise the Brotherhood Intelligence Operative Services. Her parents seemed to take the news well, though the confusion on their face was still expressed.

"I'm sorry, uh," commented Dennis LaCroix.

"Operative Pop will do, or just Lolli," he said quickly.

"Uh, yes, Operative Lolli...Pop," continued Dennis LaCroix, "what I'm not sure, and I think Susan might have the same thought, is what are we doing here?"

"Well, Mr. and Mrs. LaCroix, I need your help," said Pop, the dark bags under his eyes pronounced, "I need you to get to the Alexandria and get our commanding officer. His name is Star Paladin Bael, tell him about what has happened here, and that we," Pop waived his hand between Alvarado and himself, "need an escort back from Grayditch."

The LaCroixs couldn't help but look at the injured Doctor Lesko. He was breathing shallow into the device that was sucking up his excesses saliva so that he didn't drown in his own drool. Looking between Pop and Lesko, the unasked question was on both of their lips, _why_. Pop just stared at Lesko's, watching his chest slowly rise and fall, before turning back to the LaCroixs.

"They are looking for a reason to kill me and Alvarado," he stated as a matter of fact, "I can not allow my colleague or myself to die. I just don't want to hurt anyone...else," he stated as he looked at his hands.

Susan reach forward, squeezing the operatives upper arm, "we're do what we can," she said, Pop began to cry, holding onto her like a child would for his own mother; this action betrayed his true age, his defenses where lowered in front of these two strangers and two people that were in various states of comas. Susan rubbed his back as he sobbed hot and angry tears, Operative Lolli Pop was afraid more than he had ever been since leaving the protection of Little Lamplight when he was sixteen.

The Siege, as the defenders were referring to their current situation behind the walled encampment of the newly formed Friendship Heights Settlement, had turned from hours into days. The attacks were less often now, the super mutants had wised up and changed their tactics. The sun was setting, and already between the ruins the shadows of the destroyed buildings stretched across the cityscape drenching them in darkness. As the lights dimmed down more, the defenders turned on flood lights that were run off of the paralleled fusion generators. The lanterns inside gave the defenders enough light to walk the wall and maintain security.

Quin Schieber, Anna LaCroix, Hannah Newton and Knight Ban were sitting at a table with the settlement leader Boadicea and her assistant, for lack of a better title, Aden. The map of the Metro tunnels was before them. Aden drew circles in areas that were blocked off by rubble and were be impossible to maneuver. Schieber and Ban were looking intently at the sewer system, which seemed more intact because it was buried deeper underground. Newton and LaCroix were figuring out logistics, it was not only the few dozen men that were living at this outpost, but several women and children had been there as well. The Siege had gone on for three days now, and it was time to make plans to evacuate in case they need to escape.

"What are you thinking," asked Schieber as he saw the pensive look in Knight Ban's eyes.

"We're going to need a dead man's switch," said the Knight as he licked his lips and looked around, his eyes settling on the fusion generators that were powering the flood lights.

"What's that," asked Schieber in confusion.

"Something that'll change the landscape," answered Ban as he started drawing on a piece of paper.

"Like an...explosive," Schieber was thinking out loud as he looked to Ban drawing and then back at the fusion generators, "you mean a nuclear explosion."

"Just a small one," Ban smiled toothily as he kept sketching, "the point of the dead man's switch is that if the last man can't make it to escape, than he blows the thing to hell. That way no one, or thing, can make it to those that are able to get away."

"Suicide," said Schieber as he looked closer to the drawing and saw several frag grenades drawn without pins.

"Sacrifice," countered Ban as he drew a cord around the grenades, "the hardest virtue to have, because you can only have it once, when done right. Sometimes it's the only solution."

"Is it that time? Which one of us will it be?" Schieber was showing his nerves.

"It'll be me," said Ban as folded the paper up and walked to the armory and medical tents, "let just hope it doesn't come to it."

"Doesn't come to what," Boadicea had only heard the whispered conversation briefly, but it was a enough to worry her.

"It's uhm, nothing," answered Schieber as he walked away; Boadicea turned to her second-in-command who just shrugged.

"I think the steel heads are holding out," she said as she rubbed her shaved head, it glistened in humidity and sweat.

"They're in the same situation as us," Aden shrugged, the mapped seemed all bu forgotten.

"I have a feeling, they're up to something," she continued, he hands not resting on her bandoliers.

"If it helps, it can't be too bad," the voice of reason from Aden echoed in her ears.

"I just don't appreciate not being in the loop on what is happening to my own settlement," she said as she looked out to the wall, one of the defenders was watching through binoculars to shield out the bright flood lights.

"It's okay, Boadicea, we're be done here soon," Aden was folding up the map.

"I just hope we won't be the ones that are done," said Boadicea as there was a yell from barricade.

"HE'S ONE OF OURS!" Roared a sentry, "DON'T FIRE, IT'S ONE OF OUR MEN!"

Boadicea ran to the wall and climbed up to see over the top, stumbling from the underground tunnel was a man. She couldn't make out his face despite all the light, he was covered in viscous black fluid, his torn rags hung from him heavily, slicked in the dark liquid. His arm was holding his gut as he hobbled forward and fell over on occasion, the dark liquid pooling everywhere. His hair was long, soaked in this dark, thick, viscous fluid, covering his face, as he walked, hobbled, and fell moving to the front gate.

From underground, in the D.C. Metro, two large super mutants emerged. They were grossly over muscular and had sledge hammer strapped to their back. In their hands were grenades. Boadicea ordered her men to fire on the mutants, but they refused, afraid they'd hit the man stumbling to the front gate. Ban was on the rampart and fired his laser rifle after taking a steady aim. The grenade in the hand of the first super mutant exploded and ripped through the muttie killing it. The concussive forced cause the fuse in the other grenade to ignite and explode in the hand of the second mutant.

Both of the greenish yellow frankensteins lay on the ground bleeding and missing limbs. The man had made it to the gate, Boadicea was there to meet him with Aden and several of her other men. She ordered them to open up, the man was holding onto the gate for support and as it was rolled away he fell forward. Boadicea stood over him, a shore-off shot gun in her hand as she nodded to Aden. He turned the man over and wiped the nearly black liquid from the man's face. The elongated nose came forward, as the bangs gave way to show the rat like face of one of Boadicea's scouts.

"Gregor," she exclaimed and started to help Aden get the goo off of him.

Sheets of the liquid were coming off of the man's skin and rags. They found a cut in his abdomen that was very deep to the point that the local medic needed to push Gregor's intestines back inside of him. Several men stripped him completely naked to get the filth and rags off of him and his wounds. Those same men then carried him over to the medical tent where the other wounded were. The operatives followed Boadicea and Aden with the other men to the medical tent.

As they laid Gregor down in a cot, Boadicea turned to her men and asked them to leave except for Aden and the doctor. The operatives stayed with the injured scout and the settlement leadership. Boadicea was talking with the doctor as the others watched in shock at Gregor. Despite deep wound, he was not bleeding out. Ban thought to himself, _he must be bleeding internally that would explain why he's so pale._ Boadicea returned to the bedside of Gregor.

"We're going to wake him," she said as she brushed his hair to the side while he was still unconscious.

"He'll be in a lot of pain," pleaded Newton, removing her helmet so she didn't have to sound metallic.

"He's going to die anyways," answered Knight Ban as he held his head low, looking into Gregor's face.

"I know," said Boadicea as she looked to the red headed Newton, "but we need some answers."

"Agreed," said Knight Ban as he stepped out of the way for the doctor to break a smell salt under Gregor's nose.

The injured man coughed, his eyes blinking wearily. The doctor started to step away as Knight Ban grabbed his upper arm. The Brotherhood of Steel Knight whispered for the doctor to bring four syringes of med-x, three would do it for certain, but the forth was just in case. The doctor nodded at the coup d' grace that Ban planed to deliver to the injured Gregor. Boadicea rubbed Gregor's head and kept a hand on his shoulder to keep him from sitting up.

"Relax Gregor, relax," cooed Boadicea like a maternal figure, "it's okay, you're back at the settlement. You're safe, now."

"I'm...safe," he asked in a horse voice that was barely a whisper, "I'm safe," he repeated to himself for reassurance.

"Gregor, Gregor, can you pay attention to me," Boadicea was trying to get Gregor's attention before he slipped back into the abyss, "what happened to the other scouts, what's down in the tunnels?"

The man's head lolled around on the cot, switching in and out of focus, Boadicea held his face, trying to hold him still, "please, Gregor, I know you're in there. We need to know this information. We need to know to be safe."

"To be...safe," said Gregor, who started to shake his head trying to bring himself to the present; the pain of his injuries igniting his nerves on fire causing him to scream out that curdled the blood of those in the room.

The doctor rushed over and jabbed a syringe into Gregor's neck, "it's just some med-x to dull the pain, one shot to make him pliant," he said as the screams turned to whimpers.

Boadicea nodded, she held onto the side of Gregor's face and rubbed his shoulder, "Gregor, I know it hurts, but...but we need to know what happened to the others, and what happened down there."

"Down there," whispered Gregor, his lips barely moving, "down there...monsters live..."

"Gregor, what happened to you and the scouts," Boadicea pressed but Gregor shook his head whispering that he didn't want to tell while Boadicea tried to hold his head straight, "c'mon, Gregor. Please, tell us what happened."

"The m-m-m-monsters took us," stammered man as the throb of pain was returning to his voice and fear was in his eyes.

"Took you where? To do what?" Pressed the settlement leader.

"To t-t-t-t-turn us," said Gregor in barely an audible whisper.

"Shit," said Ban as he turned away from the man on the cot, he quickly turned around to face him, "where was this place Gregor, the exact location."

Gregor didn't answer and Ban turned to face Boadicea, "will you ask him for me?"

"What's this about," she asked in defiance.

"Just ask him, please," pleaded Ban, "ask him if her was injected, ask him where this place is located, and ask him if the others were injected."

Boadicea rubbed Gregor's shoulder to get his attention, "where was this place, Gregor?"

"I-I-I-I don't-t-t-t-t know," he stuttered out the pain increasing, the doctor plunged another dose of med-x into Gregor's neck.

"Where you injected?" She pressed the question and he just shook his head, "were the others?"

"All of them," he answered as he shook violently, "Mortimer...Mortie...he....he exploded while we escaped."

Ban was pacing as he looked at the doctor and nodded. The doctor worked over and whispered to Boadicea, she nodded and he then inject the last two med-x doses into Gregor's neck. The violent shaking slowly subsided. Gregor looked like he was sleeping until his chest just did not move after he inhaled his last breath. Boadicea placed his hands on his chest and tilted his jaw up so it wasn't hanging open.

"What does this mean," Aden asked looking at Ban.

"There is a portable FEV lab under us in the Metro somewhere," said the Brotherhood of Steel Knight, "either these frankensteins will keep coming...."

"Or what," asked Boadicea.

"Or we'll have to create medium sized nuclear explosion to ensure the area is sterilized," he answered flatly but clearly showing that he did not want that outcome to occur.

Harkness had packed his bag. All of his world possessions did not amount to much, just a few set of clothes and some ammo for his rifle. He was walking down the tower barracks. Harkness planned to run. He'd stop by Pinkerton for sure. The man had helped him before, perhaps he would be willing to help again and hopefully for free. Harkness was turning down the stairwell when heard someone call after him.

"Officer John Harkness!" Yelled out the scribe in maroon clothe as it billowed after him.

"Uh, yes, scribe," he said, not sure if he told the guy the name he chose for himself.

"I have to ask you, did you get any weird beeping noises?" The scribe was pressing as he was closer to Harkness now, making him uneasy.

"No," answered Harkness as the scribe removed a block like pistol and fired.

The plastic covering popped off and two electrodes grabbed stung to his chest. The scribe depressed the trigger and shot shocks through the wires and electrodes. Instead of having muscle tension like a normal human being, blue lines of electricity started jump from point to point on Harkness' body, leaving burn marks from where it jumped too. Harkness fell forward on one knee as the scribe walked around him, jolting him occasionally.

"I heard the message, I know your lying, but I don't know why," said the scribe as he shocked Harkness when ever he got to his feet, "but I want you to tell me about the BCSS Justice. I want to know who they are, what are they doing here. Unlike you, I can't leave when I want to, but this, a communication from ship, would be enough to get myself out of this shit hole," he pulled the triggers again.

Harkness was shocked again and again, the electricity flowing freely now as it jumped off Harkness' finger tips and flew right back into his body, charging the clothing and skin when it hit. The electro shock gun made the android look like a living Tesla coil because of his conductivity. Unfortunately, the Institute had made their androids with a fulling working nervous system including feedback relays. Harkness screamed out in the small stairway as the electricity continued to set his man-made nerves on fire.

The scribe stopped the shock torture and picked Harkness' head from off the floor, his sweat soaked hair between his fingers as he dropped down nose to nose, "what the fuck are you?"

Harkness opened his eyes and looked the man in the face, "I'm alive," he said and before the scribe could understand or react Harkness punched the man in the sternum and ripped the electrodes off himself. The scribe fell to his knees, looking at Harkness who straightened his hair with a brush of his hand and walked down the stairs. The android heard a thump like a body hitting the metal hull of Rivet City as he left his home, assuming the man was dead.

There was only one thought in his head, _the Commonwealth is on the way_....

A/N: Please, Read and Review. I've written so much for this and I'm not getting any comments! I like positive and negative reinforcement, being self indulgent has it's benefits when you like anyone talking anything as long as it concerns yourself! Please, Read & Review!


	7. Hark the Herald

The Lighthouse Perspective

Chapter 7: Hark the Herald

Andy Stahl was sitting down at the table, his older sister Jenny as his side. Operatives Daniel Roe, Zachary Zimm and Colin Moriarty Junior, but only referred to as J.R, were sitting across from him with Harden Simms. Andy had a look in his eye like he was expecting this meeting sooner. He turned to his older sister, his hand on her hand.

"Go get Leo," was all he said, his voice was steel.

"What for," asked Jenny as her eyes darted back and forth between the gray combat armor covered in jackets and her little brother.

"Just go get him," he repeated but she refused to budge from her seat at the table, Andy turned to the operatives, "will you get her out of here?"

J.R. stood up from the table, "Jenny, let's go see Leo, I haven't seen him since I've gotten in."

Jenny hesitated but stood up with J.R., she looked back between her brother and J.R. colleagues, "they won't hurt him will they?"

"No intention to," answered Roe, his eyes not leaving Andy and his brown mop of hair, "as long as you cooperate, Andy."

"I will," he replied with a nod and then turned to Jenny, "please, Jenny, go with Colin, I don't want you here while this happens. And if he decides to get fresh with you, put a round from your pistol into his gut."

"Hey, I wasn't planing on doing anything like that," answered J.R. as he offered his arm to Jenny Stahl like a gentleman, "and don't call me Colin, I abhor that name."

"At least we can agree on that," murmured Andy as he turned back to the others, hearing the latch close to the door to his eatery he began to break out in sweats.

"You can put on a brave face, Mr. Stahl," admired Roe with a crooked grin, "I imagine you'd like to know why I was here..."

"I already know why you're here," answered the business man, "you asked about Simms when you you first came in. I knew it would only be a matter of time before it all got back to me."

"So Mister Burke did kill Lucas Simms," confirmed Roe, making sure to hold Harden back under the table, Dan's hand was firmly placed on the kids pistol to prevent him from drawing.

"Yes, Burke killed Simms," Andy Stahl confirmed the rumor as being true and gave a name to the murderer of the local Sheriff.

"Why," asked Harden, "why did this stranger kill my dad?"

"It's complicated, Harden," confirmed Stahl as he bit his bottom lip.

"Then why don't you explain your role in all this," pressed Zimm, talking to Andy for the first time as he took out a notebook and pencil.

"I don't want this written down," said the owner of the Brass Lantern as he waived his hands defensively in the front.

"It's only for our records," Zimm said as he stopped writing on the two hundred year old paper, "just encase we forget something and need to check up on it again."

"And if it falls into the wrong hands," commented Andy seriously, "I would expect the whole Stahl family to be kicked out of Megaton."

"I'm sorry, but this is how we operate," answered Zimm as he tapped the pad with his pencil, "I'll use discretion though."

"You'll need to use a lot that," commented Andy as he bristled up in his seat, "so I guess I don't have a choice, do I?"

"Well no, you don't really have a choice," replied Roe earnestly, "and we don't want to have to tell anyone how you are connected to the death of Lucas Simms. I'm sure that Jericho and Moriarty would love an excuse to get their competitors out of Megaton. Nor would the citizens be too happy with you, Mr. Stahl."

Andy rubbed his hair back, slicked with sweat, "you'd really let it become public knowledge?"

"I still might," answered Harden, his eyes narrowed, "dad always had respect for you, Mr. Stahl, you were a law abiding citizen of Megaton."

"I know, and I've had to live with my self since then," replied Andy as he continued to sweat, "the nightmares have been the worst part, waking up screaming. Thinking every knock on the door was either going to be Jericho and his goons to kill me or the Regulators trying to take my finger."

"I don't think I can ever forgive you," said Harden Simms firmly.

"I'd never ask for forgiveness, not from you Harden," said Andy, "I'm least deserving of that, I can not even forgive myself."

"You know there is a way to make things easier on yourself," Roe pressed on as he got the attention of Harden and Andy, "talking about it and charity will help your soul. While I don't recommend talking about it to everyone, we are probably the only people you can talk with about the role you played in the murder of Lucas Simms."

"Okay, okay, maybe getting it off my chest will help with the pressure," said Andy softly, "but I can never forgive myself, never for all that I did," He looked up to Roe and Zimm, "it all started '72 when a man walked into the Brass Lantern wearing a light grey suit, one of those pre-war hats and glasses. He decided to sit at the bar where I was working. He asked for a shot of whiskey, which he sipped slowly, something I saw as being unusual and started talking with me. Said he was from Tenpenny Tower, said he worked for Allistair Tenpenny himself, as a consigliera or 'ere or something like that. It was a weird word I'd never heard of before, but it sounded fancy enough to be dripping with caps if it came from Tenpenny. Burke asked about my family, and how our store was doing, and where he might be able to hire some help in town."

"What did you tell him," Zimm asked as he was writing everything down.

"The truth," answered Andy as he rubbed his face, "I take care of the finances in the family, the store was hemorrhaging money, Jenny was wasting her life here and Leo, well my brother has a problem with chems. He's the oldest, but because his addiction, Jenny and I have to take care of him. And well, after he heard all this, Burke made me an offer."

"What was the offer," asked Roe to press Andy to continue.

"Vouch for him so he could buy a house, I'd get a lot of caps," answered Andy, "enough caps to move out of Megaton, with my whole family and maybe even get to Rivet City. He told me his plan with Megaton, after I agreed. But clearly something changed that plan."

"What was the original plan," asked Roe.

Andy sighed deeply, "Burke was going to blow up Megaton..."

"What!" Exclaimed Harden as he stood up from his seat, his hand gripping the table; Roe and Zimm were shocked as well but did not exclaim as loudly, "how could you accept money from that man!"

"It was a lot of caps, I didn't invest it into the store though until the Lone Wanderer deactivated the bomb in the center of town," answered Andy, "I have lived in fear of this as well, not many people knew how close this place was to complete and utter devastation."

"You'd have left dad and I to die?!" Harden was royally pissed off.

"Harden, I accepted the terms of Burke agreement," said Andy, "I was foolish and only eighteen, all I could see was economic ruin if we stayed here. Please, I'm not asking you to understand, but do not berate me for something I've punished myself over for many years."

"Why did you never tell someone," Zimm was slightly curious.

"Burke threatened to kill my family first than me," Andy rubbed his temples, "and he had the caps to get it done, either by himself or through Talon Company. I know now I should never had agreed to it, if only I was wiser back then."

"So the plan was to vouch for Burke, get him a place here, and then what," asked Zimm as he looked back to his notes.

"He said he was going to try and find someone to do the dirty work for him," answered Andy, as nervously cracked his knuckles, "told him the best place to find someone without morals was Moriarty's Saloon."

"Wasn't the only place in this city," murmured Harden under his breath.

Andy continued like he didn't hear Simms, "well, he kept on looking for someone and it took many years. Every month he would travel back to Tenpenny tower, said to me that he needed a shower that didn't have make him glow at night. He'd always return in a week's time and continue the hunt. I think I was the only one that knew his plan while he was here, but he was also getting close to Moriarty because of all the caps he spent at his Saloon. But one day he found someone that he thought was perfect for his mission."

"Who was it," demanded Roe.

"The Lone Wanderer, well before he became so famous," answered Andy as he rubbed his jaw, "he asked them if they were interested in making a few caps. The kid was pressed for cash and agreed, something I could understand. Burke then told the kid everything, well I don't think he told the kid about me, as he never confronted me about it."

"What happened," pressed Zimm, as he continued to write.

"The Loner Wanderer told Sheriff Simms and gave the fusion pulse charge that Burke planned for the detonator," Andy said as looked into Harden's eyes, "he was better, more honest man than I could be and Sheriff Simms was equally as honest and brave. It happened on the night of August 17th, in 2277. There was a loud knock on my door, we had already closed and when I opened it, Burke was there silenced pistol in hand and Simms' blood on his light grey suit. He told me that the Sheriff came to arrest him in Moriarty's Saloon and that the wanderer had given him up. As the Sheriff turned his back to lead him out, he opened fired into him from behind and rushed out. He told me he needed to get out of Megaton fast in case a posse formed to hunt him down, I didn't want to help him cause he killed one of the only honest men in the Wasteland but then he threatened to turn me in with him.

"To protect my own ass for my dumb mistakes and the lives of my family I agreed to help Burke," Andy was biting on his nails and grimy fingertips, ripping off small bits of skin and nail, "my life has been a series of bad mistakes, and I keep reliving them in my head all the time. I got Burke a clean set of clothes, burnt the blood stained pair in our furnace and traded his silenced pistol for caps when the local weapons trader came through town. He walked over to his place and packed up, he stopped by my store one last time and handed me his key. Told me he would never be back in Megaton again and that the place was mine."

"Do you still have that key," asked Roe, Andy nodded and took out a cord from under his shirt that had one key tied to it.

"I wear it to remember the bad decisions I've made and to try and avoid them in the future," he said, "what are you looking to do with it?"

"We need to check out Burke's place before we hunt him down," answered Roe as he stood up.

"That would be hard to do," confirmed Andy as he removed the key and handed it to Roe, "Tenpenny Tower is a fortress, Burke is a crafty man, and Moriarty would never allow you to do that."

"What does Moriarty have to do with any of this," asked Zimm as he continued ti write in his notebook.

"Everything," said Andy Stahl as he gripped the table, "Burke and Moriarty became business partners after Simms' death."

J.R. and Jenny walked up the ramp to the Water Processing Plant. Walter was in charge of the place, but when he slept at night Leo had been put in place. Granted Leo's position was more to wake up Walter is something happened than to try and fix it himself. The Water Processing Plant did give Leo a relatively safe place to imbibe in his addiction. J.R put his hand on the door handle and slowly opened the door, he stopped when it was ajar and he heard a conversation taking place.

He put up a finger to his lips as he turned back to Jenny as they listened, "why are you here Susa," said a voice that belonged to Leo Stahl as J.R. remembered, "come to do Moriarty's dirty work, I see?"

"Listen, Leo, I'm here to give you a chance," said an old voice that sounded like something was stuck in his throat.

"Moriarty's chances are worth nothing, like his products," said Leo as J.R. strained to hear the conversation more.

"It was your jobs to sell the product," said the raider guard named Susa.

"That shit isn't worth anything, hell Doc Hoff scoffed at them and he doesn't turn away any trades," Leo said as he paced in the back room.

"Not our problem, Leo," Susa said calmly, "you said you could unload the product for caps, Moriarty had faith in you, kid. I wouldn't want to fail Moriarty if I was you."

"Fuck Moriarty, and fuck you," said Leo as he stopped pacing, "the shit you gave me I can't even sell to the fucking zombies. They prefer something stronger, this UltraJet that has hit the market is killing my profits! On top of that, when you make them work in the shit all day they can't help but build up a high tolerance to the stuff. How do you expect me to sell it to them?"

"Listen, we don't care who you sell it to. Sell it to the ghouls, or the humans, hell sell it to your sister, we don't care about that, Leo," Susa said and there was a loud smack, "pay attention your fucking junkie, have you been inhaling you little shit. Are you fucking high, Leo?"

"What if I am," said the eldest Stahl.

"Fuck Leo, I hope it's not from our shit," demanded Susa, "you know if you laid off that shit your brain wouldn't be so full of holes. Leo, I like you kid, but if you can't produce for us, than you're worthless. As it is, you're in the hole five thousand caps to Moriarty, we're just looking to make our money back. And if we can't, then we need to make an example. Do you understand me?"

"What would you have me do, Susa?" Inquired Leo, "I've damn near did everything, and still I'm not getting anywhere!"

"The vault dwellers are a completely untapped source for you kid, you might want to try there," suggested Susa.

"I tried doing that!" Pleaded Leo, "but that vault BITCH turned me and the product away. Since then she's had a zero tolerance policy in that tin can of home."

"Leo, kid, just make it work and get the caps back to Moriarty," Susa said before adding, "or else you know what we'll have to do."

J.R. decided that it would be better to put himself into the situation than get caught as the guard was leaving. He opened the door and walked to the back office. The former raider now deputy wore the leather armor like his compatriots but with a special medal affixed to his lapel. The man named Susa was an old man, winkles surrounded his eyes and collected at the back of his bald head, with his neck hanging over his collar. J.R. looked him right in the eyes.

"Is there a problem here," he asked to the raider guard.

"None that I can tell, what do you think Leo?" Susa said, his jowls shaking but his soft face betrayed no emotion.

"Nah, things are fine," said the eldest Stahl as he rubbed the grease off his hands with a rag but still getting the stains on his shirt.

"Good to hear," said J.R.

"If you'll excuse me," Susa walked out of the Water Processing Plant and closed the door, Jenny turned to her brother.

"What the fuck have you done now, Leo," she screamed at him as she stood shoulder to shoulder with J.R.

Harkness was walking down the bridge that connected Anchorage Memorial to Wilhelm's Wharf. Grandma Sparkle and her boys had a great idea to create their bar and grill in that particular place. The cross traffic between the Citadel, Rivet City, and Caravans made certain that anyone from raiders, Brotherhood, and wastelanders got a proper meal if they had the caps. Harkness gauged it as way point. He stopped for a bit, sitting down at one of the tables. He ordered some deep fried mirelurk cakes and a beer.

Sitting at the table, he decided to gather his wits about him. It had been less than three hours since he left Rivet City. _The Brotherhood of Steel will be after me_, he thought once they discover the body of the scribe in the stairwell, _if they haven't already started_. _How similar somethings feel_, he thought as he remembered his past life for the Synth Retention Bureau, _life never changes_. Harkness thought that Hoarce Pinkerton would have helped him, but when he approached the man, all he could do was give him a plasma pistol and wish him luck, in truth he did not expect much else from the elderly scientist.

So he sat at the table in Wilhelm's Wharf, eating his mirelake cakes and sipping on a beer. _What does the Commonwealth want with the Capital Wasteland_, he thought as he chewed the slightly tough crustacean. _They said it was the Kingdom of Brandia and the Commonwealth, _he thought to himself absently, _I guess the Commonwealth was a federation now if the Kingdom of Brandia was flying both flags. Who else could have joined them? Certainly not War Castle, _Harkness thought to himself, wishing for the first time that he could talk with someone that knew what he was talking about, _War Castle would never join Brandia in anything, let alone a federated state. Also, the Abbey of the Road needed to be protected and that fell under the jurisdiction of War Castle. _Harkness kept on musing to himself, _if I'm going to be safe, I need to get to a settlement not on the Potomac; one that's big enough to disappear into_.

There was really only one option, Grayditch would have been a great choice if it wasn't known to the Capital Wasteland as Citadel City. The Brotherhood had taken an interest in settlement building and did that with Grayditch, the presence of the Brotherhood would be too much for Harkness to avoid. However, beyond the ridge of Grayditch was Megaton, and Harkness thought he could hide better there and any other place. When he finished his food, he returned to the plate to Grandma Sparkle and began a walk past the Super Duper Mart to get to the city of Megaton and hopefully make it his new home.

Meanwhile, back at the Citadel, the scribe that Harkness had assaulted was alive. In the medical bay, he work up and realized he couldn't sit up. Looking down he saw that his chest was completely exposed, the skin pulled back as the military robot nicknamed Sawbones bolted in a piece of metal. Luckily, there were no nerve endings so the dull thud he felt was just the pressure applied to his body. The skin that had been cut so that the repairs could take place was not tingling with fire, a heavy amount of local anesthetic had been applied.

"Hmm, the amount of med-x you were given was supposed to keep you asleep," commented a voice from behind his head, "strange yet interesting, indeed."

"I can't turn back to see you," commented the scribe his will power keeping him from falling into shock, he focused his mind on revenge against the thing that did this to him.

"I'm terribly sorry about that," answered the aged scribe as he walked forward, his bald skull cap and white hair that made his crown proved the voice came from Head Scribe Rothchild.

"Scribe Rothchild," said the junior scribe as he sneered when Sawbones began to reattach his tendons with use of the laser, "to what do I owe this pleasure."

"Scribe Actaeon, I'm sorry we are meeting under such circumstances," he commented as he Sawbones finished up the repairs and then folded the skin back to graph it together with it's laser, "but when you were examined we discovered that your sternum had been completely pulverized. This metallic composite should prove a suitable prosthesis. Now onto what did this to you..."

"Harkness, Officer John Harkness," said Actaeon as he sneered through the pain, "former head of the Rivet City Security, Commander Danvers took it under her title when he came under the suspicion of murder of one Dr. Zimmer and one body guard, Armitage, both from the Commonwealth."

"Suspicious indeed," commented Rothchild as he heard about this man's past, "and what of his reasoning for causing you injury?"

"I confronted him about a message he overheard on the communication unit," answered Actaeon as Sawbones finished up, Rothchild held one hand on the scribe's bare chest to prevent him from sitting up, "he denied hearing it, after he tried covering it up. It was in old Morse code, but easily decipherable. I confronted him, and upon his lie, used a non-lethal method to subdue him. The weapon was one of those electrode shooters we discovered. Well I brought him down, but as I charged him with volts he the electricity seemed to jump off his skin in archs before grounding into the floor. He was like a human Tesla coil...but not human."

"Interesting indeed," affirmed Scribe Rothchild, "the electricity just jumped off his skin, you say?"

"Yes, Sir," he answered, "as I proceeded to him he stood up and punched me in the chest."

"One punch did this too you," asked the head Scribe, Actaeon nodded, "why did you not take the Knight stationed with you for back up?"

"I was...not thinking, sir," said the scribe as Sawbones puttered away from the two scribes, Actaeon did not want to inform the scribe on his true motives.

"That much is clear," agreed Scribe Rothchild, "well, I do say this presents ourselves with several issues. What was in the message you heard?"

"It was gaining strength periodically, so it's broadcast is getting stronger," commented Actaeon as he slowly sat up, Rothchild allowing, as he buttoned up his robe, "but the message was from ship titled the BCSS Justice, they claim to be carrying a diplomatic envoy and pilgrims from the Commonwealth and the...uh...Kingdom of Brandia. They need a port to land at and the can communicate on channel 22A."

"I must say, this is alarming news," Rothchild was contemplating quickly, "I will need to inform Elder Lyons, these matters are best suited for him. Citadel Control should be able to hail on that channel, but from what I remember in the old tomes, that set of channels were reserved for the old military and coast guard..."

"Sir, if you may pardon my forwardness," began Actaeon, Rothchild nodded, "but you are the second-in-command and next in line for leadership. Should this not be a decision you make, personally?"

"I would check your tongue, Actaeon," replied Rothchild earnestly, "Elder Lyons is still in charge of the Brotherhood of Steel and these decisions are to be made by him. However, your loose interpretation of the rules led to your injuries and the loss of this Harkness. His knowledge can be very useful to us, among other things. That is why, as Head Scribe, I am ordering you to find and bring back this John Harkness alive. Perhaps then your loose interpretation of the rules can be forgiven."

"Sir, if I do this, would I be allowed back to the Citadel?" Asked Actaeon allowed, putting his motives in clear view of Rothchild.

"If you are successful, it would be the purview of my position to seek such accommodations," agreed Rothchild, "however, if you are unsuccessful, I highly doubt that would be necessary."

Scribe Actaeon nodded, looking down at his robes decided it would be worthwhile to trade them in for something more fitting in the wasteland. He was going to become a hunter, and his prey was to be Officer John Harkness. _A prey that he didn't want to get to close to_, he reminded himself as he rubbed his chest, feeling the ridges of his new scars through the cloth, _perhaps a DKS-501 sniper rifle with a .308 twist_. With his orders, Actaeon turned and walked out of the B-Ring, _John Harkness be prepared because I'm coming for you_, was all that was on the scribe's mind.

With the discovery of the portable FEV laboratory under their feet, Knight Ban, Along with the Operatives, Boadicea and Aden were pouring over the sewer map. They determined that certain locations were not likely to hold the lab as the super mutants could not fit in the passages, they were barely large enough for a human to pass. However, that left them with three chambers directly under them, two in the actual metro system and a sewer way station that connected the old pipes together. All three areas would be under heavy radiation and feral ghouls.

Schieber had pulled out the two sets of Enclave armor he had rescued from the carcasses of the dead soldiers. They sat on the table as they leadership and the Operatives fought over the logistics. Boadicea was being firm that she wanted to go down and assist, while Ban was against the idea completely. Newton and Schieber were working on the fusion generators, to get a strong enough yield they were going to need five set up in all three locations regardless. The plan was essentially to explode the area outwards creating a ground swell that would then collapse on its self. In laymen terms, a suicide mission.

"I don't care what you want," stated Ban firmly, "we can't have all of us down there when this goes off. Think of your people."

"If anyone flicks that switch, it'll be me," she stated firmly.

Her second in command, Aden, whispered into her ear, "Boadicea, the people will need a leader."

"That'll be you," Boadicea answered affirmatively.

"No, that'll be you, I'm going down there and I'm choosing my own team," he replied firmly, "and I will not budge on this."

"Aden..." began Boadicea.

The large black man that was chewing on a cigar turned to Ban, "I'll be going down there and I'm going to take Styner with me."

Ban nodded, "have you ever used power armor before?"

"We tried out some of the stuff from dead Outcasts we've scavenged," conceded Aden, "but we sold it quicker than we used it. Not as fast moving as we truly liked to be in combat."

Ban nodded and past the Enclave power armor to him and another man that came to join them, "it's a lot better with agility, but the extra strength will help with putting the generators in position. And protection against radiation. Go suit up, and meet up back here for staging."

Schieber turned to the rest, "there is a way for use to run all of these parallel to each other and set to a timer," he said as he looked into Ban's eyes.

"Make it a switch, not a timer," replied Ban authoritatively.

"Why not a timer," asked LaCroix, in fear and concern.

"Timer will give them an ability to stop it," replied Ban a tone of matter of fact in his voice, "at least a switch will start the overload and explosion."

"And only leave it to one person," commented Newton.

"Yea, but who," said Schieber.

"I'll do it," Knight Ban confirmed, "someone has to, might as well be to kill some frankensteins."

"Are you sure, Ban?" Newton was concerned for him.

"Yea," he said as he nodded to the return of the former raiders in Enclave armor, "I'll be running point, that means I'll set the switch and overload the generators. We have localized communication units in each helmet, switch to channel eight in the Enclave gear, we'll be in three separate groups down there, Schieber and LaCroix, Newton and me, and you two. Everyone has a generator on their back, so be careful and always face your enemy.

"All we take are the generators, tools to set them up and ammo. We're not going to need food on this mission, if we do it right," said Ban as he run down the operation, "stay on the coms and make sure one of you has a tunnel map. After we blow this hole, there will be a lot of debris coming down on our heads. I'll give a minute warning before I flip the switch, make sure you are all at the tunnel entrance by that time.

They all nodded at the orders as Schieber began to sling the straps to the generators to their backs, Ban leaned down to Boadicea, "after this is done, there might not be much of Friendship Heights left, gather your people and make a plan to evacuate."

"Evacuate where," she asked seething, "there is no place for us to go."

"There will always be a welcome spot for you in Grayditch," he answered and then gave a wink, "but there are many other buildings in this area that can be used," Boadicea nodded understanding that Ban referred to the one great find her scouts came across: National Guard Depot.

Harkness continued on his way passed destroyed buildings when he heard gunfire at the corner of the ruins of the sewer way station. He crouched down low and pulled out his plasma pistol from his satchel and charged it. It may not be his fight, but he didn't want to walk into a cross fire. He walked slowly forward in a crouched position and then dived behind a jersey barrier. He turned to his left and saw nearly twenty-five meters behind another barrier a man and woman holding each other as shots were leveled at their barrier and they had no weapon to return fire.

Harkness popped his head over the barrier to get an idea where the offenders were, marking them out and being able to calculate in his head the best approach he stood up and fired three pinches of plasma. He heard metal hit gravel from two guns while the last target, the closest one, burst into green goo. Harkness scanned the way and noted that those were the only raiders in sight, he put his plasma pistol into his satchel and turned to the man and the woman.

"Thank you mister," said the man as helped his wife standing.

"Think nothing of it, but I'd suggesting picking up their weapons and ammo for yourself," replied Harkness, the man and woman looked at each other and then back at Harkness who sighed, "where are you two heading?"

"To this place called Alexandria," said the man.

"I'm not familiar with it," replied Harkness as he walked over to the raiders and picked up a hunting rifle and pistol, both used .32 caliber ammo and the bodies had only five rounds left among them.

"It's past the Citadel but before the Arlington Library," he said as Harkness thrust the rifle into his hand and offered the pistol to the woman, she took it in shaking hands.

"I have no plans of going near the Citadel," replied Harkness as he fixed his satchel, "good luck to you two, god speed."

"Sir, we, we don't really know how to use weapons," said the man as he looked at the rifle, Harkness sighed and turned around.

"It's pretty simple to use, it's the aim that takes practice," said Harkness, "what kind of person waltzes across the wastes without a weapon?"

"It's just, I know I'd feel a lot safer and know my wife was safer if you came along with us, briefly," egged on the man, "if it's an issue of caps, I have no problem paying."

"Keep your caps," said Harkness as he rolled his eyes, "I really don't want to go near the Citadel, but I'm sure we can pass by it in darkness and be okay."

"Does that mean you'll escort us to the Alexandria," asked the man, his arm still around his wife.

"Yea, I guess I will," said Harkness as he reached out for the rifle, the man gave it to him.

"Thank you," said the man, and pointed to the woman, "this is my wife Susan, and I'm Dennis LaCroix."

Harkness reached out and kissed Susan's hand, returning color to her face since the near death experience, and shook her husband's hand before he strapped the hunting rifle to his back, "people call me Harkness."

"Do you have a first name, Mister Harkness," asked Susan as she began to warm up to the man that saved them from the raiders.

"John," he said, her smile bringing a smile to his own face for the first time in the last twenty-four hours, "my name is John Harkness."

A/N: Any questions, comments, or critics? Please review! As you may have guessed, not every story line will link together, but a lot of them will be close to coming to an end. At the same time, new plots and story lines will be emerging (*cough* Commonwealth and Brandia *cough*) for future novellas. I would love to hear you speculation, so please review!


	8. God of Fire

The Lighthouse Perspective

Chapter 8: God of Fire

Scribe Actaeon was standing at one of the parapets that were erected on the Citadel for sniping any incoming hostiles and seeing out into the wasteland. He had traded in his scribe robes for the standard gray combat armor of the Brotherhood of Steel Initiates. The only thing that made him look different than the rest besides the DKS-501 sniper rifle with a .308 twist was a maroon chaperon. The originally styled French hood had been used by the scribes when first crossing the Core Region of the former United States to protect from the large dust storms with the mid size cape in the back being able to cover the mouth. As it was, Actaeon held the scope from his sniper rifle in his hand as he scouted the Citadel plaza and the waters of the Potomac.

Citadel Control had been attempting to hail the BCSS Justice, but to no avail. The transmission from the ship in Morse code had been on going, but no one was able to answer on the other line it seemed. Elder Lyons seemed intent to connect with these people, though the old man did not release his information to anyone other than his Sentinels and Rothchild. Actaeon scanned the grounds more and saw three figures moving in the darkness. The low level of light made it impossible to see anything besides outlines.

The three figures looked to be wastelanders trying to make their way south through a safe passage. Actaeon switched his attention to other action on the plaza. He quietly wished good fortune on the wastelanders in their journey. He looked up into the sky, his hood falling back around his neck, the visible stars shining down. He thought to himself that night would be the start of his hunt. He turned around and pulled his hood up and over his head while tucking the cape around to cover his face as he made his way to leave the protection of the Citadel to find John Harkness.

Meanwhile, John Harkness was leading Mr. and Mrs. LaCroix across Citadel plaza in darkness. The clouds blocked the light reflected from the moon, but the stars gave enough illumination to see a few feet in front of them. The guards of the Citadel remained close to the reinforced entrance and did not prove trouble. The walking sentries in their power armor just told them to hurry up and move on, and Harkness was quick to comply. The kept walking till they got a chain link fence that led to a road.

The android opened it and motioned for the LaCroixs to go through before he closed the chain link gate again. They continued down the road, until they came to a building with a few dead trees in front of the entrance. The sign above the doors read Alexandria, and to the side of the building was an empty dumpster with several cages and broken off piece of sign that read Arms. The LaCroixs motioned to the building and started to walk to it just as Harkness walked in front of them to stop them.

"Perhaps when there is sunlight," he said and scanned the area to see the ruins next to the building, "we'll hold up there till morning, get some rest."

They nodded, not looking to argue with their guide who was armed. They walked to the ruin and found that it was booby trapped at one point but someone had been through and undone it. The remnants of a lab proved that one of the former owners were chem makers. The reached a room at the very top that held a bed. Harkness told the LaCroixs to use it as he leaned to one of he windows and brought up a chair he found so he could rest. His eyes focused on the dark stretch of road that lead up to the ruin as he heard the gentle snores and breathing coming from the married couple he was protecting.

Head Scribe Reginald Rothchild was sitting the in private chambers of Elder Owyn Lyons. He was sitting in the tangerine padded arm chair as his old friend handed him a tumbler with two belts of scotch in it. Lyons sat down in the chair next as he leaned back and crossed his right leg over his left thigh. The blue robe of the elder clashed horribly with the tangerine chair, granted Rothchild's maroon robe did not look to pleasant against the chair either.

Elder Lyons sipped his scotch slowly, "what of the business from Rivet City," he asked as his index finger rubbed the tumbler in his hand.

"Which do you refer to, Owyn?" Asked Rothchild as swirled his scotch.

"Reginald, if we were to talk about water it would be about looming burn out of your scribe," said Lyons as he put his tumbler on the table.

"Bigsley is a big boy," Rothchild sipped his drink and sighed as the glass left his lips, "he can handle Project Purity."

"I agree with you, Reginald," Lyons held his hands together and tapping his index fingers in a habitual fidget, "you would know best as Bigsley is your man. However, I was referring to the other scribe, Actaeon I believe his name was."

"Petulant child," said Rothchild with disdain, "to think his parents were some of the best from the West Coast. The journey over most made him the way he is, I don't think Helios or Athena could have raised such a self centered son."

"I do miss both of them," conceded Lyons, "do you think he'll find this Harkness?"

"Honestly, my dear friend, I don't mind either way," chuckled Rothchild with a small smile, "his self interest does not know bounds."

"If he fails," pushed Lyons.

"Then we have nothing to worry about as he'll be either out of the Brotherhood," said Rothchild as he took another sip, "or gone."

Lyons nodded and picked up his own tumbler to drink, "and if he succeeds?"

Rothchild tilted his glass as he examined the belt of scotch that remained, he was about to answer before their was a knock on the door; the scribe looked to Lyons and nodded. Rothchild went to the door and opened it. Standing at the door was the newly promoted Sentinel, Julian Tristan. His bald head glistened with sweat as he nodded to the Head Scribe and walked in.

His power armor was the new updated version that Scribe Bowditch had been tinkering with. It was a combination of the T-45d armor with the Mark II power armor that the Enclave used. The shoulders did not jut out to ridiculous lengths like either of the previous models did. Likewise, the plating had been separated and articulated to allow better agility and movement. It still remained the same steel gray color, and the ceramic plating common to the Mark II armor was under the plate to allow heat dispersion. Though it was a great combination, the fix was small as it was a combination of two existing armors and not an all new armor itself.

Tristan's squad requested the field testing of the new power armor that the scribes had nicknamed the armadillo, though the Sentinel's squad referred to it simply as 'Dillo Wear. Stenciled with blue paint on the right shoulder joint and left breast plate was a semi-circle laurel and a gallic helmet with a large fanned head crest. Tristan walked forward to the Elder and stood at attention.

"Elder Lyons," greeted the Sentinel, "I have news from the North."

"How are you and your Centurions make with the super mutants in the region," asked Elder Lyons not standing up as he continued to sip his scotch, Rothchild had closed the door and was standing besides the Sentinel.

"The Centurions are holding up well, I could not ask for better trained men and women," said Tristan, "we've collected several blood samples from the mutties. However there was a find up North that we made. The tunnel crossing and rail line to the Pitt has been reopened."

Elder Lyons leaned forward after he finished his drink in one gulp, he paused for a minute and stood up, "how has this happened?"

"We intercepted several slaver traders returning from the Pitt that we are still interrogating," Tristan remained in his fixed position as Lyons poured himself another drink, "they claim to have been trading slaves up north to the Pitt for over ten years."

"Why do they need slaves," asked Rothchild.

Tristan looked a Elder Lyons, "permission to be at ease sir," Lyons waived his hand and said granted, Tristan relaxed as he looked at the two top leaders of the Brotherhood of Steel, "sirs, I know one of our biggest scorns has been Paradise Falls, all attempts to bring that slaving market down have been thwarted. Our scouts confirm that their fortifications are too strong, and that with the new weaponry from the Enclave we could try and take them out, but we don't know how many of our own troops we'd lose."

"Sentinel, if you well," motioned Lyons for Tristan to continue.

"Well, sir, the slavers told us that the Pitt was producing...steel," said the Sentinel.

"Chattel slavery for steel fortifications," clarified Rothchild and Tristan shrugged in a way to say 'I guess so,' "Elder Lyons, this is serious..."

"I know, Reginald," Owyn Lyons was feeling his years catching up with him, "what else did they say, who's in charge? I'm assuming if they got the mills working, someone is in charge. We cleansed that horrific place of all people suffering that degenerative disease. It should have been sterile."

"Sir, the slaver traders said that a Lord Ashur was in charge, but he recently was replaced by a one-eyed raider named Werhner," continued Tristan, slightly scared and awed to see the old Paladin coming out of Elder Lyons, "apparently the Lone Wanderer helped with a coup that took out this Lord Ashur. The slavers said they thought they lost business with the Pitt, but I guess Werhner is not too differented from Ashur."

"Ashur, this name is very familiar to me," Lyons turned his head to Rothchild.

"There was a Paladin Ismael Ashur that made the migration with us," answered the Head Scribe, "he was one of the casualties of the Scourge."

"Let's assume they are one in the same," answered Lyons, "what I need now, more than anything, is Star Paladin Bael. Sentinel Tristan, go get him for me."

"Sir, yes, sir," answered Tristan as he stood still before moving out, "about my men, sir."

"Yes," said Lyons as he drank his scotch, "resupply and secure that tunnel."

"As you wish," he answered and left to go to the Alexandria to get Star Paladin Bael.

Rothchild turned back to his eldest friend, "what are you thinking Owyn."

"Many things, Reginald," answered the former Paladin and Elder of the East Coast Brotherhood, "the things we've done and the things we've yet to do."

"It is a long list, Owyn," commented Rothchild earnest as he caught a cough in his chest.

"It will only get longer," said Lyons as he poured a third drink.

The six power armored dressed men and women stood to the entrance of metro under the Friendship Heights Settlement. Those knights wearing steel power armor from nearly two centuries of combat before their birth huddled over a map, three of the four knights had bulky generators strapped to their backs. The two others, wearing a new type of power armor that was common to the enemy of the wasteland, were amongst their people. They both wore similar generators on their back, however one had a flamer slung halfway with the dispersal gun held in his right hand.

Knight Ban whistled for the other two to join them and they all looked over their maps. The knight in charge pointed to a main room where there were three clear divisions from it. The metallic voice informed them that was the point of no return. If they were unable to make it there by the time he asked for an all clear, they would certainly die. He motioned for the groups to split up into teams and they began to walk down into the metro.

In the darkness, they all turned on their lamps, Ban was the first one on the communication unit, "checking, 1, 2, checking," he said as all the people nodded, "sound off."

"Schieber," said Quin and nodded from the far left.

"LaCroix," said Anna, from the middle standing next to Ban.

"Aden," replied the man with the flamer on the far right.

"Newton," said the red headed operative as she locked and loaded her sub-machine gun.

"Styner," reported the last person.

Ban unhooked his laser rifle from his front harness, "you all know the plan, ten minute check in's. Let's do this fast, but let's do this right, get me?"

The operatives all replied, "sir, yes sir," while the two former raiders just growled their affirmation.

They continued down the metro tunnels, stomping on the radroaches to conserve ammunition. The would proceed two at time, running up twenty paces and holding for defense as another set of two ran up to replace them at another twenty paces. They continued down the tunnel system until they got to the division chamber, Ban motioned with his fingers for LaCroix and Schieber to take the sewer tunnel, and pointed for Newton, Aden and Styner to follow him into the maintenance tunnels. Schieber and LaCroix ducked under the broken debris that led to the sewer tunnel, adjusting their headlamps to a more concentrated beam as they were in narrower confines.

"Sewer is clear so far," reported Schieber.

"Keep moving," answered the gruff voice of Ban.

"I hope they make it," said LaCroix softly.

"We do too," replied Styner from the comm unit in his helmet.

"Operative LaCroix, remember that you are connected to everyone on these communications," replied Ban with a soft chuckle, "and good luck to everyone."

LaCroix and Schieber continued down the sewer following the same cover and approach method like they had in the sewer. They murky water in the sewer's were giving a foul stench as they continued down further, emergence lights giving some addition illumination to their head lamps. The continued down until they found the source of the putrid smell and dark water.

Scieber got back onto the comm unit, "we've got a gore bag here, right before the gate."

"Keep a keen eye," answered Ban, "we've just split off from the others, proceed with caution."

"Okay," Quin Schieber acknowledged as he tried to open the rusted grate, not budging he kicked at the lock and broke free.

LaCroix entered and scanned the sewer as far as she could and waved forward for Schieber to follow. The others had split at their fork in the metro tunnels, Newton with Ban and Aden with Styner. The Brotherhood of Steel members proceeded up the stairway with caution to get to the cross of the tunnel. They looked down to see the other members of their team on the platform below. They were walking causally, though with purpose, Styner had the map out.

Ban saw from the corner of his eye the glint of old and rusted combat armor shift and then closing fast on the other two, "Aden, Styner, I think you have company."

Aden turned around and leveled his flamer at the feral ghoul and sprayed them with napalm in a fiery torch. It his the ground screaming, letting the flames down it's throat before it breathed in enough fire to die. To make certain the crispy feral was gone, Aden depressed his power armor boot on it's head until a crunch was heard to echo through out the underground metro plaza.

"I think we got 'em," replied the former raider of Friendship Heights, "thanks for the heads up."

"No problem," said Ban as he motioned for Newton to continue on with him over to the next tunnel.

Styner turned to Aden, "I think the set up point is this way."

Aden nodded and led the way, using short controlled burst from his flamer to guide the way. One thing the Brotherhood never told you was how limited the view from the power helmets were. Peripheral vision hardly existed and there was a large blind spot in the front of your nose. Aden, short of ripping the darn thing off, found compensation in constantly swiveling his head slowly. Styner and him continued down the labyrinth of tunnels. Along the way, packs of ghouls would try to fight them, but the flamer made quick work of them and provided well needed light.

Then they started to come upon trails and foot prints of blood. As former raiders, they didn't think much of it, but continued walking down the tunnel. The thickness of the blood made walking a tad difficult. Styner and Aden knew they were in trouble when they got to their first gore bag. It didn't smell that bad. Styner took off his gloved hand and reached down to touch the gore bag.

He turned back to Aden, "Aden, it's still warm."

"Means they could have been cooking it," said the big man with a flamer.

"Whatcha got, Aden," asked Ban through the comm unit.

"We have a gore bag," he replied coldly.

Styner jumped in, "it's still warm."

"Schieber, report," said Ban, "was your gore bag warm?"

"Unknown," replied the Operative, "but it sure smelled ripe."

"Constant vigilance, lads," said Ban, "keep on your toes."

Aden and Styner continued down the tunnel. Newton and Ban had been fairing well, the largest feat's they were coming across were barrels of toxic waste that had corroded through their containers. Their rad level was slowly increasing, but at minimal amounts. The got one last door, with a terminal outside of it. Ban tried to force the door, but to no avail. Behind them in the larger room a Mark VII automated turret popped from the ceiling and focused on Ban and Newton.

Ban was about to shoot the turret when Newton caught his arm, "the terminal is asking for a password."

"Do you know how to hack," he asked as the turret hadn't fired yet.

"Just some basic stuff," she replied as she started to type into the counsel to bring up the bios.

"You have five," replied Ban as he kept his trigger finger close to the guard.

Schieber and LaCroix were at the convergence center of three sewer tunnels. Inside were bags upon bags of human and mutated body parts. Some were so old and rotten that nothing but a slime remained, others were reduced to bone fragments. Yet still, closer to the tunnel entrances were fresher bags. Schieber turned to LaCroix and nodded, both took off the generators they were carrying.

"This is LaCroix," spoke Anna into the communication unit in her helmet, "we're at our setup point, we're about to deploy the generators. Seems to be a dumping ground for...body parts."

"Good work," replied Ban, a little impatience in his voice, "set up quickly and remember the remote frequency to use. Then return back to the rally spot."

"Understood," answered LaCroix as she covered Schieber, who was running cables between generators to increase the fusion output.

Aden and Styner kept walking until they found a metro tunnel that had ticket offices. Styner checked the map and nodded, they were in the place to set up the generator bombs. Aden motioned to go forward more, Styner hesitantly agreed. The first two rooms they checked had cages and skeletons in them. As they turned the corner, a gigantic humanoid figure with greenish flesh and pulsing muscles was guarding an area. It yelled out in warning to its comrades as Aden soaked it in napalm. It's call to arms was ended short with a well placed bullet in the neck by Styner.

Aden quickly got on the comm, "I think we found the mobile base," just then several super mutants began to pour out from the door ways as the large man kept igniting the muttie bastards, "we're going to need back up."

"We're almost done here," replied Schieber into his comm, "we can get to you..."

"Negative," said Ban, a little more relaxed now, "get back to the rally point LaCroix and Schieber, Aden and Styner, I need you to retreat to a safe area, set up your bombs and defend. Is that understood?"

"Are you fucking crazy," shouted Styner into the mic, "there are freaking loads of them!"

"We can do," replied Aden, "Styner fall back to the men's room, I'm going to ignite the walls."

Aden sprayed napalm all over the walls, the metal held the flames as he lit the already piled up dead more to create a lot of smoke. He and Styner ran to one of the bathroom and locked the door. He slung off his generator and told Styner to start wiring them up. On the other end, Ban moved into the room that Newton had just opened. The pneumatic locks gave way and the turret popped back into the ceiling. Inside, was a pristine assembly system.

Originally worked to produce gaskets and pressure valves, the new machines seemed to be retrofitted to produce weaponry. There were crystal arrays all over work tables, along with capacitors and transformers that were common for laser weaponry. In a box next to one of the last tables there around ten packaged laser rifles of an odd shape. Ban picked one up and looked it over.

"You have got to be shitten' me," he said as Newton turned to him.

"What is it," she asked, noting the large slide grip and heavy stock of the laser rifle.

"These are those tri-beam rifles that have been popping up," he said as he tossed one to Newton and grabbed another for himself, "we should set up hear and destroy the whole operation."

The door next to Ban opened and two super mutants stepped forward. Ban turned and fired his laser rifle into one's head, while Hannah turned the tri-beam laser on the other and destroyed parts of it's abdomen. She stared at the weaponry in shock and then looked back to Ban. He nodded and threw her another rifle as he but another on his back. They continued through the doorway just as a heavy green fist the size motorcycle hit Ban into Newton.

The young operative dropped her new rifle, she scrambled to pick up the other she just got. Looking straight into the large super mutant with thin, scraggly hair that hung from the flat top of it's head. Ban was being pressed against the far wall, the beasts hand taking up one third of the man's chest. Hannah clicked the trigger and nothing came out.

The larger than average super mutant laughed in a guttural voice, "stupid normal. You have found my workshop. To bad your knowledge will die with you."

Ban took out his combat knife, his laser rifle had been knocked away, and sliced into the creatures hand between the index finger and thumb. He was dropped to the ground and picked up his laser rifle quickly. The super mutant had scrambled for his tri-beam laser and pointed it at both Hannah and Ban. Newton had also armed herself with her previous weapon.

"Looks like we have a standoff," growled the mutant, "I don't like normals breaking into my workshops, nor do I like those that don't die easy."

"Who are you," asked Hannah, trying to find a diplomatic solution.

"You forget your name in the pain," replied the mutant as he slowly walked backward, "but I am known as Drummond."

"Drummond, it doesn't have to be like this," she pleaded slowly lowering her weapon, "we don't need to fight."

"No fighting makes it easier to kill you normals," answered the Drummond the mutant, "and what kind of leader would I be if I didn't kill you inferiors."

With that he shot three rounds, on hit Newton in the side and went straight through, but was lower enough not to hit the generator as it was her hip. Ban caught a laser lance in calf and left arm. Drummond was hit by a shot from Ban in his hand, there were two smacks as his large fingers fell and hit the ground. The mutant turned through the next doorway and slammed the door shut. Ban and Newton heard a large object hit it and heavy footfalls running from the site.

"Ow, that fucking hurts," Newton commented as she sat up.

"Yea, those things pack a punch," answered Ban as he hobbled forward and picked up Drummond's fingers, "might need these for latter."

"Can we set up this damn thing already," asked the red head operative as she threw the generator off her back.

"You're the boss," Ban said with smile on his lips as he passed the fingers to Newton, "I think it's best for you to hold onto these."

"Why would I need to hold onto them...oh," said Hannah Newton as she remember that Ban was going to sacrifice himself to blow up the tunnels; she looked down to see the wounds in his leg and arm knowing that he'd have a tough time leaving the tunnels.

Scribe Actaeon found himself at Wilhelm's Wharf. The night had already been upon them for a while. Better men, women and children were sleep in what ever comfort they could find. The scribe turned hunter was already on the trail for his prey. He rubbed his chest through his combat armor and French hood, imagining the new scars more then actually feeling them, _I will get you, Harkness_. He knocked on the door to Grandma Sparkle's place. The noise behind the door contained some shuffling and metallic objects hitting the floor.

The door opened and a shotgun was pointed at chest level for the scribe. Sparkle recognized the maroon color of the hood as belonging to the Brotherhood of Steel scribes. She lowered her weapon and stared at the man as her bleary eye sight became more focused.

"Good lord, child, I damn put a round in your chest," she said, even late at night her tone was welcoming, "what can I do you for at this hour."

"I'm looking for some information," Actaeon was not in a mood for games.

"My clientele trust me to keep what I overhear to myself," she replied kindly.

Actaeon grabbed the muzzle of her gun and pulled it down as he pushed her into the shack, "you clientele are the least of your worries," he said as he turned the shotgun around and pointed the barrel at her heard."

"How...how dare you!" She shouted as she held up a finger to Actaeon, "I have half a mind to..."

"Listen, if you don't give me the information I want, you won't have any mind," he said as he motioned for her to sit down as he kept the gun level on her.

"When my boys get back," she began again as Actaeon rolled his eyes.

"Harkness would have had to come through this area," he said leading the conversation, "did you see him."

"Haven't the faintest clue what you're talking about," replied Sparkle as she turned her head up.

"I'm not playing with you," replied Actaeon as he pointed the shotgun to her foot and pulled the trigger, in an instant and a loud bang, all of Sparkles toes were missing on her left foot.

She screamed out and held her foot out, rocking back and forth on the chair, "you're fucking crazy," she kept on saying as she rocked back and forth.

"Tell me what I want to know," he said in plain English to her.

"So...so...many people come through...here," she said between sobs, Actaeon had gotten her a rag and threw it to her; she was wrapping her bleeding foot, "got to...give me...a little more...detail."

"White, male, mid-thirties," rattled off Actaeon about the man he used to work besides, "neat brown hair..."

"There was...a man like that....in earlier," she said gasping as she stopped the blood flow, "said something about Megaton...I think."

"Thank you," said the man as he fixed his hood to cover his mouth and nose, he slung the shotgun on his back with his sniper rifle.

"So you're going to...take my foot...and my gun," pleaded the old lady.

Actaeon stopped at the doorway and turned back slightly, "be happy to have your life," he said before he moved onward to Megaton.

Sentinel Julian Tristan was at the door of the Alexandria. It was late at night, but Brotherhood of Steel were supposed to be on call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. The protected gauntlet of Sentinel Tristan pounded on the door. There was a long wait but then a middle aged woman greeted him with a lantern.

"I'm looking for Star Paladin Bael," he said, the power helmet making his voice metallic.

"This way," said the woman as Tristan stepped into the foyer; she closed and locked the double doors, "follow me."

Tristan followed the woman as she walked up the main set of stairs and through the cafeteria. The doorway on the right hand side led to several suites and the first one to the right was Bael's. The woman nodded and then shuffled out of the hallway. Tristan knocked on the door.

"Who is it," grumbled Bael as he sat up put on his coveralls.

"Sentinel Tristan," replied the man in new power armor.

Bael opened the door and beckoned the man in, he turned on his lantern to give dim lighting, "nice armor," he said as his eyes focused.

"Just testing it out for Bowditch," replied Tristan, "look, Cristano, I wouldn't be here so late if it wasn't important..."

"What is it, Julian?" Bael was getting his wits to the point of being a little irritated at being awaken so early.

"Cristano, the rail line from the Columbia Commonwealth to the Pitt has been opened," he said nonchalantly.

"Okay, and?" Cristano Bael was getting really pissed off that his sleep was interrupted.

"Well, Elder Lyons wants to see you," finished the Sentinel.

"The Lyons can wait til morning," answered Bael, "we have an extra room, great bedding, please stay the night and get some rest, better than camping out in your power armor."

"Lyons said it was urgent," pushed Julian.

"And I'm saying that we get some rest, because two sleep deprived men are worse than two well rested ones," countered Bael as he slapped the side of Tristan's power helmet, "but seriously, nice armor."

"Yea, thanks," was all Tristan could reply feeling guilty as he walked to one of the rooms the knights at Arlington Library used.

"We're all done here," said Schieber through the comm unit.

"Make it back to the rally point," commanded Ban, as he watched Newton finish setting up the generator, "Aden, Styner, report."

There was static on the comm units until they heard, "we're still setting up....the uglies found us, ammo low."

_Shit, _Ban thought to himself as Newton nodded, "stay there, we'll get to you," he tossed Hannah the tri-beam laser rifles from his back, "carry those."

They moved as quickly as they could through the corridors. They got to the split between paths for their high tunnels and the others' lower tunnel. Newton turned to run down the stairs but Ban grabbed her by the back plate. He pulled her back to him and shook his head.

"Head to the rally point, Newton," holding his rifle close to him, "that's an order."

Hannah hesitated before Ban pointed in the direction to the rally point. He hobbled down the steps and got to the bottom landing. He rushed through as fast as he could, following the blood and gore that guided the way. He kept running as fast as he could despite the damage to his calf. He turned to an area filled with smoke and thanked that his air filter was still working.

He knew he was getting closer as the heat was rising. He could see several large figures scared away by flames shooting out of a doorway. Ban pulled out a frag grenade, dislodging the pin to prime it. He called out fire in the hole and rolled the grenade a little past the door way and down the corridor. The explosion caused confusion and with that he ran forward and killed several of the mutants that were down on the ground.

Sliding into the men's room, Aden pointed the flamer at him. Styner looked up from the generators. A super mutant reared it's ugly head through the doorway and Aden soaked it with a stream of napalm. Ban looked at the generators to see they were in piss poor shape. He crawled to them and started to help Styner. The other man, the former raider looked at the door and then back to the generator.

Ban looked up and shook his head. Styner nodded, picked up his assault rifle and ran through the smoldering doorway. Aden stopped the flamer just in time not to burn his partner. He yelled out after him, just as Ban yelled. Styner turned around to see the two of them in the room still but it was too late. Three super mutants had grabbed him. One pulled from his right arm, another from his left arm, while the third pulled from his leg. They kept pulling on him and all Ban and Aden could do was watch as the servos started to strain and give way.

Metal shards began to pop off of his armor. Everyone could hear his screams through communication unit. As the servos went, so to did the strain on his muscles, tendons, and bones. The sickening crunches between screams were followed by Aden and Ban seeing sinew being stretched through the broken pieces of his armor. The mutants were pulling Styner through the power armor, piece by bloody piece.

Ban tossed a grenade to Aden. The large raider pulled the pin and rolled it under his comrade who was amazingly still alive as the mutant ripped him apart. The explosion killed Styner to end his pain, along with the super mutants around him. Aden turned back to thank Ban. The Brotherhood of Steel knight looked up in terror as a super mutant with a super sledge swung through the doorway and hit Aden in back and hip. The large raider flew in the air and hit the sinks breaking them.

Ban ran forward and shot the mutant down, he rushed over to Aden, "you okay, big man?"

"Seen better days," he replied with a cough.

"I'm all done, I have the charge set, think you can walk out?" Asked Ban in hopes that the man could save himself.

"Brother, I can't feel my legs right now," replied Aden as he looked at his legs not moving.

"C'mon, let's get you up," Ban tried to help Aden up, but the slightest motion hurt him.

Aden removed his helmet, sweat covering his face in clear pain, "give me the trigger and some grenades."

"Are you sure," asked Ban as he handed over his last three grenades and the remote detonator.

"After the first one, go and then I'll cover you," answered Aden as he adjusted himself into a better sitting position.

Ban nodded and waited, after the black former raider threw the grenade to clear the path he shouted into his comm unit, "all teams move out, get the fuck out of dodge!"

He started to run down the tunnels that he came from, hobbling, running, and praying that Aden would give him enough time. He heard some chatter on the other line but listen to closely. Back at the rally point, Schieber, LaCroix, and Newton had met up. She handed off some of the tri-beam laser rifles to them. Schieber was pacing back and forth, muttering to himself.

"This is taking too long," he would say, "somethings happen."

"Don't worry," LaCroix would reply.

It wasn't until they heard Ban yell, "all teams move out, get the fuck out of dodge!" That things were going according to plan. The three Operatives quickly picked up their gear and started to run for the exit, Hannah hobbled more then the others because of the wound to her hip. They made it through the entrance way just as a cloud of dust was blown forward, the force caused them to loose their footing and fall forward. There was ringing in their ears as dust clouded around them to obscure their vision.

Newton stirred first, she stood up to see the entrance way dark and clouded with dust. Everywhere was clouded with the brown and gray particles. Then she realized that Ban wasn't with them. She ran to the entrance, thinking he might be a few feet inside. LaCroix grabbed her quickly and held her at the entrance.

"He's down there!" She shouted over and over again.

"He's gone," soothed Anna LaCroix as best as she could.

Schieber on the other hand took the news poorly. He removed his helmet and breathed in the dust and radioactive particles. He spit a greyish phlegm onto the concrete entrance. He dropped from where he was standing to sitting on the ground. Schieber's eyes did not leave doorway, despite all the dust irritating him.

A few minutes before the explosion Aden was down in the men's room with the generator bombs. He had pulled out a cigar from inside his power armor lit it with the last of his flamer fuel. Aden breathed in the smoke, tasting it in his throat and jowls. He threw the last grenade to clear out some super mutants. Holding the remote trigger to his chest, he continued to puff on his cigar. Five super mutants squeezed into the men's room, forming a circle around him.

"My name is Aden," said the black man who couldn't feel his legs in Enclave power armor as he smoked a cigar and held his chest, "but I'm guessing y'all too stupid to know what is means. Well let me enlighten you..."

"Shut up stupid human," grumbled one of the mutants as he pointed to Aden, "take him to Drummond!"

"Aden is the god of fire," continued the man as he smoked his cigar, looking between the super mutants, "and y'all just got burnt," with that Aden flipped the switch to the generators causing them to overload and explode. In the few seconds before the explosion, the super mutants looked at each other while Aden smiled and smoked his cigar. The generators next to him began to light up from green to yellow and then to red, the same happening to the ones set up in the sewer and the ti-beam laser assembly. Then there was a flash of brilliant white light, the five super mutants were no more and Aden truly became the god of fire.

The rumble that marked the explosion shook the ground that Ban was running and hobbling on. He had passed the rally point but he was not close enough to the entrance. Adrenaline kicking into high gear, Knight Ban ran harder to the entrance. The warmth from the multiple fusion explosions was gaining on him, he knew that radiation was passing through his body, but he kept on running. The heated air was building up and dust was flying past him from behind. He lost his footing on his wounded leg and fell forward, covered in darkness as the heat washed over him. Then he felt nothing. Knight Ban was submerged in darkness.

From the structure across of Friendship Heights Settlement sat Boadicea, her settlers and several defenders. They followed the risk assessment and abandoned the post. They heard the explosion and instead of seeing a ball of fire, the members of Friendship Heights saw a good area beyond their settlement rise up slowly and then sink in a mushroom cloud of dust. At the same time, they saw three figures get blown from out of the entrance way as dust shot out and obscured all view. She whistled to several of her defenders and they grabbed their weapons, some aid kits and food as they approached the rising dust.

In the air was a vertibird caring Sentinel Lyons and all of Lyons' Pride. The explosion caught the eye of the pilot and mentioned it to Sarah Lyons. She ran forward to check the window see the mushroom cloud of dust slowly rise up. She turned to her tired men and told them what she just saw. They nodded and woke up the members that were asleep. They began to load up their weapons.

"Take us down in that flat area there," she said pointing to the flat area before the metro entrance in front of Friendship Heights Settlement.

"Yes, ma'am," replied the pilot before he called back to the main tower, "Citadel Control, this is Vertibird 01 caring Lyons' Pride, I repeat, this is Vertibird 01 caring Lyons' Pride."

"Go ahead 01," said the women commanding Citadel Control.

"We have just watch an anomaly occur in the northern ruins, Lyons' Pride will be attempting landing," said the pilot.

"What kind of anomaly, 01," asked Citadel Control.

"Looks to be high yield nuclear bomb," replied the pilot.

"Lyons' Pride is given a green light," Citadel Control confirmed, "proceed with caution."

"Understood, Vertibird 01 out," the pilot looked up to Sarah Lyons, "you got your wish ma'am."

"Just don't leave without us," she said and patted him on the shoulders.

As she said those last words, day break began. Rays of light were shinning through the rusted out metal and ruins of the D.C. Metro area. The dust, originally grey and brown becomes a shade of amber in the sun light. On the ground, three operatives were standing in shock at the entrance to a tunnel and all the dust around them. A settlement leader was coming down to give the survivors aid and possibly move back into their settlement. A squadron of the best trained forces of the Brotherhood of Steel was landing in the area. Not for the first time, there was a new crater that was forty yards in diameter in the D.C. Ruins.


	9. Picking Up the Pieces

The Lighthouse Perspective

Chapter 9: Picking Up the Pieces

In the first hours of day light, Boadicea and her men were standing beside the three Brotherhood of Steel members. They seemed demoralized and in shock. She got them food and water, and made certain that the injured one was looked after. She was sitting with the young man with mid length brown hair, several days of scruff and noticeable bags under his eyes. He was sitting on his helmet, his head in his hands with his elbows on his knees.

"Did Aden..." she began, already knowing the answer.

"No," said Schieber through clenched teeth, "not anyone but us three."

"So Styner is..." These were her men, she needed to know.

"Gone, they're all gone," he said as ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back, "we only just made it out ourselves."

"For what it's worth," said Boadicea, "thank you, from myself and my people."

"Yea, just make what we did here worth it," he said standing up, the dust hadn't settled yet and in Schieber's anger he kicked his helmet against the wall.

Boadicea grabbed his upper arm, "we'll do what we can, but you need to hold it together," Schieber turned to watch her and noticed that LaCroix, Newton and the others were looking at him; he nodded reluctantly.

Just then the whirling noise of twin blades rotating was heard and the dust began to whip around into peoples eyes. Schieber stood up and shielded his gaze to catch a glimpse of the vertibird. Hannah was leaning hard on LaCroix as they stood up, the top half of her power armor removed with the settlement medic had put a quick bandage on the wound. The vertibird set down on the flat area between the settlement and the ruins. From the transport hold seven member of the Brotherhood wearing full power armor stepped out and scanned the area. The leader pointed to one of the members caring a sniper rifle to get up top to the ruins where the rest of Boadicea's settlement was located.

"What seems to be the situation," asked the lead of Brotherhood unit as her heavy weapons specialist stood at the top of the stairs to the metro entrance.

Schieber was the first to see the patch on the left breast plate of regal lion, "Sentinel Lyons, it is good to see you."

"What's your name soldier?" She asked as she removed her helmet and let her blonde pony tail out, Boadicea and the other settlers were now standing to the side as the Brotherhood met with each other.

"Schieber, Quin Schieber," he said and then pointed to LaCroix as she helped Newton walk forward, "they are Anna LaCroix and Hannah Newton."

"Anna and Hannah," said one of the Brotherhood behind Sarah Lyons.

"Stuff it Colvin," the Sentinel said before turning back to Schieber and the others, "you never gave your ranks."

"Well, Sentinel...we're Operatives," said Schieber, as Newton and LaCroix were finally standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

"Now I remember you," she said before she hollered out, "Kodiak, go get a kit, one of our own is wounded."

"Yes, ma'am," said another member of the Brotherhood as he ran back to the chopper.

"So what happened here?" Asked Lyons, "Who's in charge?"

"Boadicea," said Schieber, the bald leader with icey blue eyes walked over to the Operatives, Schieber put a hand on her shoulder to which the leader looked at and shrugged, "is the leader of Friendship Heights Settlement. Boadicea, this is Sentinel Sarah Lyons, leader of Lyons' Pride."

The two leader shook each others hands, and Sentinel Lyons turned back to Schieber, "so what happened here Operative."

"Super Mutants happened hear," answered Boadicea from the side, "and they saved us from extermination."

With the first light of day break, Harkness woke the LaCroixs from their sleep. They quietly made their way down the ruined building to the double doors of the Alexandria. Harkness nodded and began to walk away when Dennis LaCroix stopped him.

"John, please don't go, just yet," he said and guided him back to the door, "they may have food or water and I dear say that would be a good payment for your services."

"I do not know these people, nor do I wish too," said Harkness, not really used to someone calling him by the first name he chose for himself only recently.

"Our daughter is of their ilk," commented Susan with a smile, "and to me that means they are not all bad."

"No one is all bad, or all good," agreed Harkness, "but I must be on my way."

Just then the door opened to two men, both wearing power armor. One of them looked like the regular power armor seen on most Brotherhood of Steel members, but the other had on an odd looking set of multiple smaller plates. They looked at the LaCroixs and Harkness then at each other. One of them slide his hand to his side arm, the other swung his mini-gun forward.

"What do you want," said the power armored man with the mini-gun.

"We have...have...a message for Star Paladin...Bael," said Dennis, a little scared to have a weapon pointed in his direction.

"Speak," said the metallic voice of the man with the mini-gun.

"We come from Grayditch...sir," said Dennis, unsure of how to address the two men, "our daughter, Anna LaCroix, is apart of the Brotherhood Intelligence Operative Services...."

"How do you know all this," questioned Bael as he stepped forward.

"We...we...we...were asked to send a message to you from Operative Lolli Pop," answered Dennis, "he told us this would make us seem more credible."

Star Paladin Bael sighed and removed his helmet, holstered his mini-gun and needed to Tristan, "head inside; Tristan, I'll be delayed for a little while."

"I can wait," he replied and walked inside with the LaCroixs.

Harkness remained outside looking around the area, "did you hear me, get inside," ordered Bael as he looked at Harkness directly.

"Oh, I'm not with them," he answered earnestly, Bael pulled his pistol and pointed it directly at Harkness' head, "I mean, I got them here, but I'm not part of that group."

"Get inside, now," commanded the head of the Brotherhood Intelligence Operative Services.

In the welcoming area the LaCroixs' marveled at the relatively cleaned foyer and welcome center. Bael walked in, holding Harkness at gun point. The Star Paladin motioned to the office set in the old elevator. The LaCroixs entered and took a seat as Bael passed Harkness to Tristan.

"Watch him," said Bael as he continued to his office, "and if he moves, shoot him."

Tristan looked at the pale man with neat brown hair before turning back to Bael, "shouldn't I be the one giving orders?"

"My house, my rules," answered Bael as he shut the elevator doors and started to talk with Dennis and Susan LaCroix.

"What did you do, kid," asked Tristan as he leveled a plasma pistol on Harkness.

"I honestly don't know," answered the android, hoping that news of what occurred in Rivet City hadn't spread that fast, _but you did kill a member of the Brotherhood, you know you're stupid for even agreeing to this, don't you, Harkness?_

Knight Captain Galeas walked down into the foyer to see Tristan holding Harkness at gun point. She looked between the two and sighed. She sat down at the office terminal before turning back to them.

"Where's Bael," she asked, her voice metallic because of the power armor.

"Office with a message from Grayditch," said Tristan with a shrug.

"What's his deal," Galeas pointed to Harkness who felt that it would be better not to be in the conversation.

"Bael brought him in at gun point, told me to watch him," Sentinel Julian Tristan said, "doesn't know why he's here."

"How'd he get here," Galeas directed the question to Tristan.

"Escorted the messengers," the Sentinel said a second later the door to the elevator office opened and Star Paladin Bael walked out with the LaCroixs following him.

"Good thing you're here Galeas," he said as he walked past the front desk, "watch our new friend, Sentinel Tristan, if you will come with me, a short trip to Grayditch is in order."

"Elder Lyons has been expecting us since the middle of last night," commented Tristan as he stowed his plasma pistol.

"What's happening at Grayditc," asked Knight Captain Galeas.

"Alvarado and Pop have made a mess of things that need to be cleaned up," said the Star Paladin as he, the LaCroixs and Sentinel Tristan left the building.

Galeas looked back to Harkness, who looked right back at her. They stared at each other for a long time, Harkness trying not to blink but unable to tell if Galeas was under her helmet. After a few minutes of silence and staring, Harkness turned his gaze away.

"I win," commented Galeas as she stood up from the terminal and hit a few keys, "want some chow? We can see if the servants have prepared something."

"Some food would be nice," answered Harkness earnestly.

"It'll cost you," said the Knight Captain, Harkness turned his head and looked quizzically, "look, that peashooter on your back won't wound me in this armor. However, for the safety of the servants here, I'm going to have to ask you give it up. Don't worry, you can get it when you leave."

"That is if I leave," commented Harkness as he handed over the hunting rifle but clung to his satchel which had his plasma pistol in it, _I hope I don't have to use this_.

Outside of the Brass Lantern, Scribe Actaeon sat at one of the middle stools to the bar. The fair woman behind the counter was serving food. He had ordered a simple meal that was served quickly. She served him and leaned forward a little to whisper in his ear.

"You're friends will be coming to join you soon," she said and brushed off his French hood to make it look like she wasn't whispering as Moriarty was surveying his city.

Actaeon looked at the woman perplexed, _what friends do I have_, he thought as he spooned some of the gruel into his mouth. _Any friends I did have, we'd split ways since coming to this accursed land_, he reveled in thought trying not to taste the gruel before him, _gone were they to the Outcasts, the will of Lyons, or the Great Codex._ Three people joined him at the bar of the Brass Lantern, he didn't look up from his food as he kept thinking and eating. J.R. began talking with Jenny Stahl to misdirect attention from anyone looking on to him trying to flirt with eatery owner.

"Hello, friend, what message do you have for us," asked the man to Actaeon's right side, the Scribe turned to see the face of Daniel Roe.

Actaeon turned back to his food and kept eating, the black man to his left put an arm on his shoulder in a way that was too friendly for the scribe so he brushed it off; "don't worry, we're of the same group," said Zachary Zimm.

The scribe put his spoon into the bowl of lukewarm gruel, "and what group is that," he asked.

Daniel Roe nodded to his left and slowly opened his jacket to reveal the insignia of the Brotherhood of Steel on his breast, "you're wearing Brotherhood combat armor."

"Are you deserters," asked the scribe, _might not be John Harkness, but it well get some favor with Rothchild and the Elder_.

"Nothing like that," said Zimm, as he shook his head, "we're Operatives for the intelligence branch. We thought you may have a message for us."

Actaeon nodded, _so Megaton is of interest to Lyons_, he noted for later in his thoughts, "no note, I'm sorry."

"Then perhaps you can pass one on for us back to the Alexandria," asked Roe as he held a holotape cassette in his hand that he and the others wrote up last night after searching Burke's place and finding nothing, "make sure it gets to Scribe Yearling or Star Paladin Bael."

Actaeon picked up the cassette in his fingers and began to hold it up, Roe reached forward and pushed his hand down, "don't lift it up, the Mayor or Sheriff will see. Now, I'm going to need you to punch me in twenty seconds, I'll take the hit and fall down. Then you're going to need to get out of here."

"I'm searching for something," said Actaeon as he pocketed the cassette.

"This is important, and it needs to get to the Alexandria," pressured Roe as he squeezed Actaeon's hand harder.

"My mission is important as well," seethed Actaeon, _I need to find Harkness_.

"Listen, how can we help with your mission," asked Roe.

"I need to find a man name Harkness and bring him back for questioning," answered Actaeon, _after I rough him up a little_.

"We'll keep our ears to the ground," said Zimm, his hand on Actaeon's back, "but please do this for us and punch Dan already."

Actaeon, seething with anger, elbowed Zach in the stomach and threw his hand back from the grasp of Roe. He brought around his left fist in a hook and caught Roe in the neck, the young Operative fell to the ground holding his throat. J.R. stood up and turned to the Scribe, who just glared at him. J.R. not one to back down, threw a punch that caught Actaeon in the chest plate. The Scribe responded by backhanding J.R. in the jaw and then kicking him while he was down. The three Operatives rolled on the ground for dramatic effect while moaning.

Roe looked over to Actaeon to see him walking up the main street to leave Megaton as Sheriff Jericho approached him. Roe frowned as Jericho sucker punched the scribe in the stomach with a set of brass knuckles and then hit him downward on his cheek. Moriarty gave a soft clap as Actaeon's unconscious body slowly slide down the main street of Megaton. Jericho looked up at Mayor Moriarty.

"Lock them up," said the Mayor, "give them a day to cool off, if not, should be a source of entertainment for your guards to watch them fight."

"And your son," asked Jericho, just to make certain he got the orders correct.

"The general holding cell should do him just fine," answered Moriarty, "say hello to Ashkelon for me," he turned to the rest of the residents of Megaton who had just watched the brief street fight, "there will be no lawlessness accepted in this town. Not even from my own son!" Jericho and his guards began to drag all four Brotherhood of Steel members out of Megaton to Springvale Prison, as Moriarty turned his back to the crowd to enter his saloon he whispered to himself, "no lawlessness will be accepted, except my own, that is."

Back at Friendship Heights, Operative Schieber, along with Boadicea, LaCroix and Newton told the story of the siege and portable FEV lab. The told of the fortification of the walls, Gregor covered in gore and blood, and the idea to use fusion generators to destroy the mutants below their feet. Newton also added about the encounter with Drummond, his appearance and overall intelligence. She also showed them the tri-beam laser rifles she brought up on the order of Knight Ban. Talking about Ban was difficult for them, his lose was defiantly a turning point for all the members of the team. They also praised Aden and Styner for their clear sacrifice in the name of safety, liberty, and freedom.

"Boadicea, I want to thank you," Sentinel Lyons turned to the settlement leader, "your men volunteered for a certain death mission, gave their lives courageously to allow members of the Brotherhood to survive and put an end to this FEV lab. I will talk with the Elder and see what can be done for this settlement."

"Nothing can replace the loss of life," remarked Boadicea, "Aden and Styner were good men, so too was Knight Ban. However, the plan to save this settlement has also put it back at risk. The families and men are moving back in, but there is no more energy source for us to use."

"Generators will be the first thing I mention to the Elder," replied Sarah Lyons, "I will also have half of my men stay here to help with defense, if that is okay. Think of this as a time for renewal, honor the dead and fallen and build this community based on the values they've shown."

"You speak the truth, Sentinel Lyons," answered Boadicea, "it is a time to rebuild."

The lead of Lyons' Pride turned to the Operatives, "we'll take Operative Netwon back to the Citadel, there sawbones will be able to fix her better. I'd like you two, Quin and Anna, to remain behind and help with the clean up."

"Yes, Sentinel Lyons," said LaCroix as Schieber just nodded.

"Kodiak, load Operative Newton into the vertibird," she ordered and then turned to her second in command, "Vargas, a word please?"

"Yes, Sentinel Lyons," he asked stepping forward and removing his helmet to show the the recon helmet he wore underneath.

"I want you to stay behind in command, along with Dusk, Glade and Kodiak," she said to him, "you're orders are to secure the area and defend against any threats to this settlement. Also, if you can get someone into that Metro Tunnel, we need to know the extent of the damage."

"You got it, Sarah," he said as put his helmet on and started to bark orders into the communications unit.

Sarah Lyons turned to the other Operatives, "I'm leaving Paladin Vargas in command, please treat him with the respect he deserves. Once I've reported to the Citadel, we'll come back and take you home."

The two Operatives nodded their approval as Lyons shook Boadicea's hand one last time and filled her in. She motioned to the vertibird to start it's engines and loaded up inside with Colvin, Gallows and the injured Newton. They took off again, this time clearing away more of the dust as it began to pour from the entrance way. The Operatives and Boadicea walked up the stairs to see Paladin Vargas talking with Knight Captain Dusk from her sniper perch, just as Glade was setting up a defensible position at the top of the stair way, Boadicea ordered some of her men to stay near the entrance as well.

The caravan driver walked over to the and asked if it was all clear to leave yet. Schieber shook his head and told them man to wait up, sell some more goods if he can because it might be a little while. The caravaner just shrugged and tossed a pouch to LaCroix, said that the four hundred caps was inside. Neither LaCroix nor Schieber wanted to check and make sure that Bigsley's drug money was all there. All the Operatives wanted was a warm bed. A warm bed, and to have Ban alive again.

Under their feet, deep in the dusty, dark, rubble and ruins of the metro tunnel he woke up. He couldn't see anything in front of him, there was no visible light anywhere. He coughed, feeling the dirt against his face and on his lips. He stood up as best he could, but the wound to his leg and the force of the blast made him bend in pain. He searched on the ground until he found his helmet, feeling along the front side, he found the head lamp and turned it on.

A beam of light hit his face, illuminating his dark complexion covered in whitish dust with the jagged scar along his jawline still visible. He blinked hard, momentarily blinded by the light in his eyes. He turned the helmet around and searched where he was. Confused, he looked down at his feet and whispered.

"Okay, time to do a check list," his voice was soft, seeing that there was no reason to talk loudly as he was the only one he could see, "your name is Michael Ban, from the State of Maxson, Knight in the Brotherhood of Steel and recently assigned to the Alexandria for this new crackpot idea on intelligence. Well at least you know your not amnesiac, however talking to yourself questions your sanity."

He continued to scan the room with his helmet lamp held in his hands, he found his laser rifle and holstered it to his chest plate again, "you were on a simple day trip that turned into a full on siege and sally forth. Resulting in the use of fusion generators to kill super mutants," he walked to one of the closed off tunnel sections and began to count his steps till he got to the other side, "you wound up shot in the leg and arm, nearly blown up in the blast, only to be trapped in a five by twelve foot section of tunnel you don't know which way leads out."

Ban tossed his helmet against the far wall, hearing it hit and bounce off onto the ground, the ground shaking under his feet and some tiles above him falling on his head, "and the fucking thing looks like it'll collapse at any moment. Why do you get yourself into this shit?"

He sighed and picked up his helmet, brushing his face Ban put it back on and locked it in place. Ban then took his rifle and pointed it to the rubble before him and fired. There was a little tremor, but not as big. He walked forward and inspected the damage he caused and found the small hole. Ban brushed his rubble with his hand and looked down at the ammunition he was carrying, _not enough_, he thought and took off his gun. He then started to pull the rubble from the top so as to not cause a cave in over his head.

Ban slowly placed the cement to the side and began again, _what makes you think this is the way out_, he thought to himself and answered a loud, "better to die trying."

There was a crowd in front of the Doctors office, the two Knights sent to guard the town were holding the people of Grayditch back. Their laser riflers were out, but pointed down and used more as beams to push the mob back as it tried to push forward. The LaCroixs, Bael and Tristan stood at the edge behind the crowd. Bael turned to Tristan who just shook his head.

Bael removed his helmet, and held it under his arm as he turned to the crowd and projected with clarity that the mob turned to see him, "those assembled here today! A grave crime has been committed against one of your citizens. I am Star Paladin Cristano Bael, commander of the men who have committed this atrocious crime in your city. We, at the Brotherhood of Steel, have only just received word of it and apologize that we could not have acted sooner in your interests."

"Our interests!" Shouted a man from the crowd, "more like your interest to save your own men!"

"I assure you, we are here to deal justice," answered Bael to the heckler from the crowd, "we are hear today to take this men to stand trial at the Citadel, for the crimes they have committed against you, the people the Grayditch."

"More like to take them and protect them," shouted another person from the mob.

"We ought'a string them up," demanded another.

Now a chant of 'hang them' started among the crowd that Bael heard, "enough! No such injustice will be tolerated in the town of Grayditch. I am here to escort these men to the Citadel to stand trial. All those who hinder this action will be met with swift justice. I ask that you disperse now. These men will be dealt with, I guarantee it."

The mob grumbled and moaned, insult were through at Bael and the Brotherhood as pathway through the mob was formed. The LaCroixs decided against walking with the Brotherhood and just melded back into the crowd, their task complete. The Knights nodded to Tristan and Bael as they walked through the door, inside waiting was Scribe Mendel.

"Thank the lord you're hear Bael," said Mendel as she ushered him in, "Sentinel Tristan, did you bring the Centurions with you?"

"No," he answered earnestly to see her face sag a little, "should I have gotten them?"

"We may need them," replied Mendel as she led them to the recovery room.

Bael looked over the vegetated form of Lesko and sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, he then saw Alvarado and commanded that he be awoken. Doctor Hopkins was there to greet him and introduce himself. He informed Bael on Lesko's and Alvarado's condition.

"I heard your speech, Star Paladin," said the good doctor, "very...endearing."

"People see only where the light is shined, so why not give them good images," said Bael as he made candor.

"That is the problem with perspective," answered the doctor, "makes you a lighthouse."

"I'm sorry, but I don't follow," conceded the Star Paladin.

"It's a simple metaphor," answered the Hopkins, "you are guided by your perspective, your view on life, of people, of justice, what have you. You only see the illuminated parts, what's in front of you. However, the danger is always in the darkness, the items of this world that your perspective can't handle, or the events and objects that can scuttle your ship."

"A lighthouse perspective," answered Bael with a nod, "tunnel vision in other words."

"If you want to chose the unpoetic version," answered Hopkins with a soft smile, "Operative Pop is in the anteroom," Star Paladin nodded and proceeded to the room.

Lolli Pop was hunched over a desk pouring over his notes, reading them and rereading them. He had committed them to memory and was wondering where he and Alvarado had gone wrong. _Who are you, Lesko, _he thought as he tapped his pencil to the pad, _who the fucking hell are you?_ The door behind him opened, Pop pulled out his pistol and aimed it until he saw the power armored figure of Bael enter.

Pop got to his feet and stood at attention, "you have no clue how happy I am to see you, sir."

"You've made an awful situation out their, Operative Pop," Bael said as he closed the door, "beating a man into a vegetative state. You know there is a mob out there that wasn't to string you up, right?"

"So I've heard," said Lolli as he relaxed a little, "I owe a debt to the good doctor for keeping me safe. And I see that the LaCroixs got to you."

"You're going to owe a lot of people," answered Bael, "I have half a mind to tell Elder Lyons and let him put you on trial, but I rather you owe me then risk you going to the firing squad. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," answered Operative Lolli Pop as he gather his and Alvarado's stuff.

"First thing first, you can not carry your items, give them to me," Bael held out his hand and took all their items, their weapons and notes and put it into rucksack that he tied around his shoulders, "now I'm going to have to bind your arms behind your back, I told these people I will bring you to trial."

"But I'm not going to trial, sir," stated Lolli Pop in confusion.

"You know that, and I know that," said Bael, "but they don't know that, and I rather have the people of Grayditch still support the Brotherhood of Steel after this week."

"I understand now, sir," answered Lolli Pop as he turned around and Bael tied his hands together, both walked through the door to see a dazed Alvarado getting an extra shot of med-x to numb the pain in his shoulders.

"Thank you Doctor Hopkins, your kindness and smart wit will not be forgotten quickly," said Bael as he walked into the waiting room.

"Just following my oath," answered Hopkins as he handed over Alvarado to Scribe Mendel who helped walk him.

Bael turned to Tristan, "Sentinel Tristan, will you do me the favor to get those two Knights out there to guard our flanks as you guard our back.

Tristan nodded, went outside and returned with the two Knights, Bael turned to all of them, "we're going to make a diamond formation. I'll lead the way, you two guard the sides and protect the three people between you, and Sentinel Tristan will guard the rear."

"And if it gets rowdy," asked one of the Knights.

"Non-lethal wounds," answered Bael, "everyone ready, even you Scribe?"

Mendel nodded and Bael opened the door. They moved forward in a tight diamond formation to escort and protect Pop and the injured Alvarado. The mob pushed in around them, hissing and yelling at the two operatives. Shouts of murderers, heathens, and village killers were turned hatefully on the young operatives. In the back of the crowd stood Susan and Dennis LaCroix, shocked to see the treatment their towns people were putting friends of their daughter through.

The LaCroixs walked around the crowd as the Brotherhood diamond slowly moved forward to the entrance of the Hopkins' Clinic. He stood their waiting for the LaCroixs and greeted them with a sad smile and handshakes.

"It's a sad day to see the town of Grayditch revert to barbarism," he said with a sigh.

Bael yelled from the formation loud enough for everyone to hear, "stand strong and tight, hold the formation."

"Tomorrow will be an even sadder day," said Susan as she rubbed her husband's back, "when the town wakes up and see's what it has become."

In the formation, the mob was pushing and shoving but the power armored clad Brotherhood did not give way. They were in the middle of the mob now, Bael still leading forward as the formation followed. Tristan saw from the corner of his vision the flash of a metallic object, he held tightly to his plasma rifle expecting a firefight to break out. The crowd was grabbing onto their metal armor but the Knights on the side just shrugged it off.

Then there was a man dressed in rags with a simple cloth hat on his head, he ran forward to one of the Knights on the flank. The Knight tried to push him off, but was unable to as the man hooked his arm around the Knights neck. The ragged covered man pulled the Knight's head back and pointed the muzzle of his .44 magnum at the seal and pulled the trigger. A sharp rock had emerged into the light to scuttle Bael's plan to leave Grayditch unscathed. The gunshot was loud and everyone was in shock for a moment until they saw the Knight on Tristan's right hand side drop to the ground. The Sentinel ran forward to the man he saw pull the trigger who still stood of the fallen Knight reading his aim at Lolli Pop.

With a loud whack, Sentinel Tristan leveled the shooter with the but of his plasma rifle. The force knocked the man instantly unconscious. Tristan put his foot on the man's lower back and pressed down as aimed his rifle to his head. The mob had broken apart into screams, cries of terror, and started to run in every direction. Several people fell and were trampled on. Doctor Hopkins saw this from his steps and began to run into the middle of the crowd. He tried to help pick up the fallen before they got trampled on more. Susan and Dennis LaCroix helped as best as their could. They took the bruised and bloodied to the stoop and tried to get them inside the clinic.

Scribe Mendel forced Alvarado's arm over Pop who still had his arms tied around his back. Star Paladin Bael and the other Knight were securing the area, watching as the mob ran away. Mendel dropped to the side of the fallen Knight and unlocked his helmet. Instantly warm red blood with bits of hair, skin, and brain began to pour out. She removed the helmet completely to show that half of the Knight's head and face were missing and the bullet was unable to leave the helmet. Tristan applied more pressure to the shooter's back.

Doctor Hopkins ran forward to see the Knight, he gagged when he saw the damage and held his hand over his mouth, "there is nothing I can do," he said as he fruitless checked for a pulse like it really mattered.

"Care for the live ones, doctor," said Bael in a gruff tone as he gave a kick to the shooter's side, "Pop, looks like we're going to have to see Elder Lyons after all."

"What are we going to do with this one," asked Tristan.

"Taking him to Lyons for trial," answered Bael, _though it would be simpler to just murder him in the streets_.

"What was his name," asked Pop as he held Alvarado's hand to make certain he was still over his shoulder.

"Jenson, Knight Patrick Jenson," answered the other Knight to his side.

"He's dead because of me, isn't he," asked Pop to no one in particular.

The Knight that had given the name spoke volumes with one word, "yes."

Elder Lyons was sitting up in this office. He had waited all night for Star Paladin Bael to come see him, and to no avail did the man come before him. Rothchild was already up and about going over the work with his scribes. Owyn on the other hand was thinking. The news from Tristan was disconcerting. The Pitt was up and running again, a problem from the Brotherhood's past that would needed to be dealt with. _But how to deal with it_, he thought to himself, _militarily or with diplomacy?_

The knock on his door woke him from his musings, he beckoned the person in. His daughter, Sarah Lyons walked to her father's office and sat down next to him. She crossed her right leg over her left thigh just like he did, a habit she picked up from being around him a lot. She let out a long sigh.

"It's been a tough week for the Pride, Sarah," said Elder Lyons with a benevolent smile to his daughter.

"The men are tired, father," she agreed holding her helmet in her lap, "but moral is high."

"That's good to hear," he said as he rubbed his thigh that had gone to sleep for sitting so long, "did you have news to bring me, or just another father – daughter chat?"

"Actually, father, I do have news for you," she began, "you remember that settlement the initiates helped create?"

"Operatives, my dear," replied the Brotherhood Elder, "they're all Operatives now."

"Yes, father," said Sarah, smiling as she thought the old man was becoming more cantankerous in his old age, "well, the Friendship Heights Settlement, as it's called was under attack by super mutants. Several Operatives were already there, having helped to deliver aqua pura. There were four of them, and they helped to push the super mutants back and discover a portable FEV lab in the Metro Tunnels."

"I dear say, could that have been where all the super mutants were made for the D.C. Ruins?" Asked Elder Lyons.

"That's still unclear at this time," replied his daughter, "however, the Operatives, along with two volunteers from the settlement were able to set fusion generators to overload and explode to destroy the lab and a tri-beam laser rifle workshop."

"If there was a new rank to promote them to in the Brotherhood Intelligence Operative Services, they were be deserving of that," he stated firmly and clearly, his daughter winced a little, "is there something I missed."

"Only three Operatives made it back alive, Quin Schieber, Anna LaCroix, and Hannah Newton," Sarah Lyons said, the names coming from her memory, "Knight Michael Ban is still unaccounted for and presumed dead, along with the two settlement volunteers, Aden and Styner."

"Have then been search attempts for Knight Ban," he asked and Sarah shook her head, "well then, that should be done first, along with searching for the two settlement volunteers."

"The explosion left a forty yard wide depression in the D.C. Ruins, father," said Sentinel Lyons with a shake of her head, "the chances of something living through that..."

"Still, it is best to search for a week and then call it off than presume the worst," answered the Elder Lyons.

"There is still an issue with the settlement," she continued, "the fusion generators that were used were their only sources of power. Without a power source, they won't be able to function."

"Hmm, at first I was opposed to this settlement," said Elder Lyons, "but they had not gained my trust completely. Have Rothchild get you one fusion generator for the settlement, I think we can spare that much. If you help them find some intact car engines, then they can be jury rigged to increase the generator output."

"I will go to Rothchild now," said Sarah as she uncrossed her legs when the doorway burst open.

The Knight guard ran in, "Elder Lyons, you need to come to the courtyard immediately."

"What is wrong," he asked as he stood up along side his daughter.

"Sir, just come," replied the Knight as he left the doorway.

Elder Lyons and his daughter, Sentinel Sarah Lyons walked into the courtyard of the Citadel. The usual sounds of the initiates and apprentices firing weapons was not heard. Instead there were murmurs as a semi circle had formed around three men in power armor, one of which was noticeably Tristan, and Scribe. As the Elder approached and the semi-circle split for him to see, the kneeling forms of Juan Alvarado, Lolli Pop, and the ragged man were behind the body of a Brotherhood of Steel Knight laid on a stretcher with half his head missing.

"What is going on here!" Demanded Elder Lyons.

"Sir, a crime has been committed and justice is needed," answered Star Paladin Bael, stepping forward.

"Bael, talk with me aside," ordered Elder Lyons, "and will someone get that Knight to the infirmary!"

Walking side by side away from the crowd and the two Knights that picked up the stretcher, Elder Lyons began, "what is going on here, Bael. I ask you to come visit me immediately and you don't. On top of that you bring in the dead body of one of our comrades. Please, explain."

"Elder Lyons, I received notice this morning from a messenger that two of my Operatives had committed a crime in the city of Grayditch," began Bael to explain, "I, with the assistance of Sentinel Tristan, went to Grayditch to receive them to bring before you for judgment. On the return from the clinic where my men were held in protection, a mob attacked us and that man in the rags killed Knight Jenson."

"What was their crime," asked Elder Lyons.

"Operative Pop beat a man named Doctor Lesko into a comma," answered Bael.

"I see, and the other one," asked Lyons, referring to Juan Alvarado.

"He was shot by Scribe Mendel before anything else," Bael said as he rubbed his foot into the ground, "they were in the process...of leaving Lesko's house."

"Did they gain permission to enter," asked Elder Lyons in a cold stare as he looked Bael in the eyes, the Star Paladin shook his head, "I thought you had more sense then this, were they acting on your orders?"

"Most certainly not," answered Bael, "we asked them all to just be discreet, observe and report."

"Clearly that message didn't sink in," answered Lyons as he thought, "there will be a trial, but not here, not at the Citadel."

"Then where else can it be held," asked Bael in confusion.

"It'll take place in Grayditch," answered Elder Lyons, who held up his hand to stop, "this is not something the Brotherhood can handle as it was outside of our knowledge."

"They will never receive a fair trial in Grayditch," complained Bael, thinking of his men, "hell, they don't even have a judicial system! They were going to string them up!"

"Then we will give them a judicial system," replied Lyons firmly, Bael just hoffed and knew that the Brotherhood Elder was stuck in this line of thought, "how has your contact with the other Operatives been?"

"This was the first message I've heard, Elder Lyons," Bael was still reeling from Lyons' decision.

"That is an issue, isn't it?" The old man rubbed his beard as he held an arm across his chest, "there was an incident at Friendship Heights. Super mutant attack, it seems your Operatives, Schieber, LaCroix, and Newton, handled themselves there really well. One of your men, Knight Ban, is missing. I will have the Pride search for him for a week."

"Thank you, sir," Bael was shocked to hear that Ban could be missing, or worse off killed.

"You, Star Paladin, have an issue with communication," answered Elder Lyons, as he slapped Bael's upper arm and they turned around to walk back, "maybe you should talk with Vault 101 about that."

Bael sneered at the idea of talking with the vault community near Megaton, resigning himself instead to go up there after the trial and see how his last set of Operatives were handling themselves, "perhaps, Elder Lyons, perhaps."

A/N: Thank you for the first reviews! The more reviews I get, the faster I'll put out chapters. My hope is to have this volume done by mid-June, as I do have larger and bigger plans for this universe. I'm also open to any plot questions, critiques and comments. I'm so self-indulgent that I take criticism well because it pertains to me.


	10. An Offer

The Lighthouse Perspective

Chapter 10: An Offer

The dust was settling around Friendship Heights finally. It was a day later, the area was secured by the four remaining members of Lyons' Pride. Schieber and LaCroix were still in a funk. Newton had gone back to the Citadel to be healed, but that was not the reason for their sour mood. Their thoughts were still on the loss of Ban. The deaths of their previous colleagues at Dupont Circle did not compare with the loss they felt at the moment. They had gotten to know Ban, they both had gotten to like Ban, and now he was gone.

_I wish Elias was here_, thought LaCroix as she wanted to confide her loss in someone with a different perspective; she looked at Schieber who had is head buried in his arms. The loss of Ban was affecting him worse, for certain. A little girl, one of the children of the former raiders ran up to the two of them sitting at the picnic table. With her little hand she grabbed onto LaCroix's pinky and ring finger that were protected in her power armor suit. LaCroix didn't notice until the girl tugged on her fingers.

She looked down and forced a smile on her face, her and Schieber were not wearing their helmets, "hello there, little one."

The girl could not be more than six years old, she held firm onto LaCroix's fingers and said in a small voice, "tank you, steel lady."

LaCroix couldn't help but smile as her eyes became moist, she reached out and tussled the girl's hair which was in short pig tails, "you're welcome, hunnie."

The mother of the little girl ran up to LaCroix and apologized for her daughter. LaCroix said it was okay, but the mother still forcible dragged the girl away. During that time, Paladin Vargas, the temporary security leader for Friendship Heights walked over to the two Operatives. He placed his helmet on the table along with his laser rifle. He looked over the two of them sitting there.

"Listen up, Operatives," he began in his no non-sense attitude of duty, "you both suffered a loss yesterday. But there is a lot of work that needs to get done. I'm going to need to count on you."

"Sir, yes, sir," answered Schieber and LaCroix both without their heart in the mission anymore.

Vargas held his right hand on his helmet and tapped his fingers, "I know the upcoming days and weeks will be tough for you two. This is life in the Brotherhood, we face the hardship of the wastes and we make a stand. While we keep this area secured up top, I'm going to ask you two to help Paladin Kodiak secure the tunnels."

Schieber and LaCroix looked at Vargas in shock but did not say a word, "I know this will be hard, but I trust that you two are strong enough for it. Kodiak needs to make a plan to reinforce the tunnels so these people don't disappear into a sink hole. You two know the tunnels better than anyone here..."

"These people know the tunnels," said Schieber, "they've been in this area longer than any of us."

"If I could have it that way, I would," answered Vargas firmly, "but all of these people's tunnel rats were killed while scouting. Now I want you down there with Kodiak."

"Sir, yes, sir," answered Schieber and LaCroix as they put on there helmets and grabbed their rifles.

Paladin Kodiak was waiting for them at the Metro entrance. The three of them together walked in to the underground. The dust may have cleared outside, but inside the tunnels, the air was thick and cloudy still. The helmets filtered the air and allowed for their view not to be completely obstructed. They walked down and saw for the first time the rubble and scorched debris that had been added to the damage done two hundred years prior. Kodiak switched on the communication units in the helmet and began talking structural work with the Operatives. Schieber and LaCroix didn't say much, but both felt the same thing, this was Ban's Tomb.

Knight Michael Ban was trapped in a portion of tunnel. He didn't know his exact location or if he the way he was digging lead out or deeper to the collapsed tunnels. His helmet was off and on a pile of rocks and concrete on the far wall. The head lamp was on and projecting light as he kept busy to try and get free. He picked at the rubble, and had been doing so as long as there was strength in his body. Without water, without food, Ban knew that surviving long trapped in this section of tunnel did not exist.

He wiped his forehead and sat down on a pile of debris. Ban had already dug himself two feet deep, but he had yet to see light or feel a draft. He pulled out a medal from around his neck. It was a simple gold oval on a golden chain. Ban rubbed it with his thumb, _Saint Jude, give me strength_, he thought before he popped the medallion in his mouth. Knight Ban began to suck on the medallion to make his mouth water. He did that for a few minutes before he got back up and began to work again.

Elder Lyons was in the courtyard of the Citadel along with Scribes Rothchild, Jameson and Mendel. Star Paladin Bael with three Knights, including the one living guard from Grayditch, escorted Operatives Juan Alvarado, Lolli Pop and the man in rags. Alvarado was strapped into a wheel chair because his wound was so great it still required him to be sedated. Sawbones was unable to do any medical work. The man in rags had yet to give the Brotherhood of Steel his name, so he was just referred to as 'The Prisoner'.

Rothchild touched Lyons' elbow and talked from the side of his mouth, "I don't understand what you are going to do, Owyn. How can there be a trial? There are no courts here."

"Reginald, we can make the first judicial system of the Columbia Commonwealth," he whispered back to his long term friend, "but I'm going to need you to watch over the Citadel and operations here while I am in Grayditch."

"Surely you don't have to go yourself," said the Head Scribe.

"I do not have to, that is true," the Elder said, "but events these grave have not occurred for the Brotherhood since the invasion of the Enclave. Success here must be a success for the Brotherhood."

"I agree Lyons," answered Reginald Rothchild, "but I should be the one there to set up this judicial system."

"I will be fine Reginald, thank you for you're concern," he patted the scribe on the arm, "while I'm gone, I need you to check on the situation with this Commonwealth ship. We've been hailing them for a few days now. I want some progress in finding out their intentions."

"I will get the information, Elder Lyons," said Rothchild as he walked away with his scribe robes billowing behind him.

Lyons turned to the rest of the assembled team as they walked through the doors to the main gate, "secure the prisoners."

They walked through the plaza and on the main road past Wilhelm's Wharf. The led the prisoners in front, the muzzles of the Knights' weapons pressed against their back. One Knight was pushing Alvarado forward, knowing that he wasn't about to wake up and try to escape. The passed the old Sewer Waystation and turned to enter the South Eastern entrance. At the entrance way stood three men with weapons.

"State your business," said one of the men as he held a hunting rifle in his crossed arms.

"Are you serious," said Bael, under his power helmet he raised his left eyebrow.

The man motioned with his arm and three others joined from behind a defensive wall, all holding weapons though not pointing them, "quite serious."

"I am Elder Lyons of the Brotherhood of Steel," Owyn Lyons stepped forward, "and we are here to turn these men over for a fair trial. I ask to make an address to the town of Grayditch as well."

The man looked over the elderly man in blue robes with a large beard, "the mayor is going to want a word with you first."

Lyons turned to look at Scribe Mendel who just shrugged, "mayor?"

"Special election occurred yesterday," answered the man, "if you please follow us, and keep your weapons holstered. The Brotherhood doesn't have the best reputation in Grayditch anymore."

Actaeon woke up in the prison cell. He lifted his head from the cot he was lying on and quickly regretted it. The punch from the brass knuckles had lacerated his cheek and given him a splitting headache. He ran his hand across his cheek, wincing as Actaeon felt the puffy wound with thick stitches. _Another scar_, he thought as he ran his finger tips along the wound on his left cheek right under his eye. There was a rustle next to him and the hunter knew he wasn't alone.

"Morning," he said, his voice was like gravel because he hadn't used it for over a day while he was passed out.

"More like afternoon," said Zachary Zimm as he held onto the cell bars.

"At least we're not in general holding like J.R.," commented Roe as he laid on the other cot and swung his leg.

"Where are we," asked Actaeon as he blinked his eyes.

"Springvale Prison," Roe said as he planted his foot on the ground, "I guess Moriarty wanted to crack down law."

Actaeon searched his pockets and found the holotape, "at least those knuckle draggers didn't get their hands on this."

"Thanks for the concern," said Zach as he shook his head, "but what good is a message that doesn't seem like it can be delivered."

"I was doing you guys a favor," sneered Actaeon as he tossed the holotape at Roe, "and because of it, I was beaten and imprisoned."

"It wasn't a picnic for us either," Zach commented dryly from the bars of the cell.

"Same team, boys," said Roe as he sat up to see the scribe eying Zach.

"You're right," Zach nodded and turned around to look back at the other two members of the Brotherhood of Steel, "what's your name anyways?"

"Name's are for friends," said Actaeon as he slowly sat up, rubbing his head to try and dispel his headache, "and the last friend I had left for the Outcasts. Forgive me for not being too trusting."

"A wise decision," said the voice of the prison warden, Ashkelon, "though I do have questions for you three as well."

"We're not going to tell you anything," said Zach, firmly.

"You're release is up to me, Sheriff Jericho, and Mayor Moriarty," his crooked smile now spreading across his face, "it would be wise to be more pliable."

"What do you want to know," asked Roe as Actaeon and Zimm stared at him blankly.

"Who you really are, I'm not buying this mercenary crap," he held his pudgy left hand against the bars.

"What do we get if we tell you," pressured Roe, Actaeon and Zimm now seeing where Roe was going.

"You're freedom, of course," answered Ashkelon with a wave of his hand, "we have no need to hold you, other than information."

"Will that be the release of all of us," negotiated Roe.

"Yes, even Colin's little whelp will be set free," the warden scoffed, knowing that Moriarty already had plans to let them go free but seeing this as a prime way to get information from them.

"I don't suppose I can get that in writing," joked Roe thinking of what his own father would have done.

"A clue: No," said the warden as he turned around and walked away, "I'll give you boys some time to think about it, don't take too long."

"Good going," said Actaeon as he pulled his hood down and rubbed the back of his head.

"For what it's worth, I think we should tell him," said Roe as he looked at his colleague and the scribe.

"I don't know why you two are here, but I just got caught up in your mess," Actaeon was getting pissed off, _John Harkness is getting away!_

"We're all in this together, now," Zimm corrected him as they watched Ashkelon walk down the hallway.

"Why are intelligence services here," asked Actaeon, the renewed interest due to his own self interest of being lumped in with these operatives.

Zach gave a sideways glance at Roe, "we were sent here to get a better feel of the town," began Roe, "we wanted to talk with the sheriff of the town, until we found out he was murdered."

"And then you went searching for who did it," scoffed Actaeon as he rubbed the back of his head, he figured he was ten years older than these kids and had better common sense.

J.R. was in the general holding cell that had the emaciated debters, vagabonds, and wastelanders. When he was first brought in yesterday, they tried to remove his boots, jacket and armor. J.R. fought tooth and nail to keep all his items, he had shuffled to the back of the cell and slouched down with his back against the bars. There was already a group of people sitting against the far wall.

There were four of them, all were thin, gaunt, and wore a blue jumpsuits. They looked at him with fearful eyes and J.R. jutted his chin to them. A woman, maybe a year or two older than J.R., with blonde hair shuffled closer to him. J.R. glanced at her.

"You're the one the doctor talked to," she said, her voice was sweet by raspy, she was clearly suffering imprisonment poorly.

"What's it to you, vault dweller," he asked, angered more at his predicament than the woman.

"You don't need to have that tone with me," she snapped back decided to turn back.

J.R. sighed, "look, I didn't mean that..."

"I don't care what you meant, _wastelander_," she sneered the title like a racial slur, "it's what you said and how you said it."

J.R. stared at her blankly not knowing what this woman was going on about, "whatever, lady."

"Typical," she said as she turned away.

"What's typical, I'm not following what you are saying at all," he said waving his hand between them, "there is a divide between us."

"Damn straight there is, and the divide is called civility," said the blonde vault dweller, "maybe next time you'd think twice before saying something like vault dweller, or vaultie, or sardines..."

"Look, lady, I didn't say those last two," pointed out J.R., "all I said was vault dweller, well, 'cause, you live in the vault."

"You people have been using it derogatory since we opened the door," she said with a huff, "we thought the world would be welcoming to us. We're taken advantage of, always. First it was the merchants, selling us supplies at exorbitant rates and then by our products way under the cost to produce them. Then when we needed medical care cause all our medical staff is gone, the so-called mayor of Megaton charges us visa taxation."

"Moriarty is charging people in the vault to get medical aid," J.R. shook his head trying to fathom the levels his biological father would sink to, then realization hit him, "the doctor...what was his name, Cushing?"

"Yes, Doctor Peter Williams Cushing," answered the girl as she rung her hands, "we picked up radio transmissions and were able to find a new doctor. We went out to escort him in and there was Jericho and his fucking deputies."

"How long have you been locked up," asked J.R., his head turned to her the whole time.

"Nearly a month now," she said holding her knees to her chest, "I...about before, they took the doctor to the hole. I was wondering if you...heard anything."

"Sorry, not in any position to have heard anything really," commented J.R. as shook his head, there was a long silence between them before he offered her his hand, "the name's J.R."

"Susie Mack," she said as she shook his hand, they feel back into silence at the prison cell.

Knight Captain Galeas, Knight Bors, and Harkness were standing around the pool table. The two knights were playing, their power armor off to allow them greater motion. Harkness was not surprised to find out that Galeas was a woman, he could tell because his sensors as a new and experimental android gave him great abilities. These abilities were dulled through Pinkerton's modifications, but ever since the pass code renewed his memories so to were his heightened senses. The knights continued to shoot pool while trading small conversation with Harkness. The conversation was mostly about the wasteland and their hometowns. For his better part, Harkness was a good liar and used his extensive knowledge of Rivet City to make it his hometown and not the hollowed halls of the Institute.

"Want to give it try," said Bors as he handed a pool cue to Harkness.

"Sure thing, I've played some at the Muddy Rudder," Harkness referred to the bar at the lowest accessible level of the beached hangar.

"What made you leave Rivet City," asked Bors from behind as he sat on a stool and sipped a beer.

"I was wondering the same thing," Galeas chalked her cue, "I mean, I visited there once. Of the settlements, that place has it's shit together."

"You'd think that," laughed Harkness as he broke and sunk two solids, "but that place has many problems these days. Not saying cause the Brotherhood is there, though that does have issues of it's own, but just internal stuff..."

"Wait, what's the issue with the Brotherhood, we share our tech with you," Galeas was a little defensive for the organization she spent her whole life in.

"The issue is the Brotherhood gives us technology and we have lost nearly two thirds of our men on water security," answered Harkness as he continued to run the table, finessing his shots, "that is effecting Rivet City in two ways; one, there is definitely a loss generation, and two, there less security forces to handle the crime in Rivet City."

"Those aqua pura deliveries can be tough," agreed Bors from experience in water deliveries.

"Still doesn't answer why you left though," Galeas was getting pissed at how good Harkness was at pool.

"Well, I rather not be on a sinking ship," lied Harkness as he sank the eight ball in the side pocket for the win, "no pun intended."

"How are you this good," asked Galeas, upset as she re-racked the balls.

Harkness hated to lie to others and himself, he preferred ignorance, "over thirty years at Rivet City, I had time to practice."

"What are we supposed to do anyway," asked Bors as he rubbed his thick beard, "Galeas, I'm serious, we're in here working on our billiards. We haven't heard word about anyone, doesn't this get you worried?"

"Well, from what I gathered, the two men you had in Grayditch," said Harkness as he broke again, sinking a striped ball, "got into some trouble. Your commander had to go rescue them. Guess it's taking longer than he thought."

"Look, I think we should be out there too," agreed Galeas, thankful she was able to get a shot in on the table as she continued, "but we also need to make certain this place is secured."

"Seems secured to me," rejoined Harkness as he leaned against his cue, "but then again, not everything is how it appears."

"We can't leave," answered Galeas, "until we get an order too."

"So wait for a messenger," figured Bors.

"Hopefully he doesn't get put under arrest or holding or what ever this is," said Harkness with a half smile, "don't get me wrong, I am honored to be watched by two Knights of the Brotherhood of Steel. But I was looking to head over to Megaton and then see where my travels take me."

"Bit adventurous for a wasterlander that has lived this long," joked Galeas as she broke the next set.

Harkness handed the cue back to Bors, "consider it my mid-life crisis."

"You don't need to have a mid-life for one of those," laughed Bors, "every day is a crisis in the Capital Wasteland."

Rothchild was in Citadel Control, the communication hub for the Brotherhood of Steel. It was at the highest level of the Citadel for the best transmission and reception signal. The Enclave technology was proving helpful. The reach of the communication network for the Brotherhood was farther than the last twenty years. Granted being able to communicate as far as Project Purity and into the Falls Church region was helpful, but not far enough for the Brotherhood. The second goal was to find out how the portable communication units worked and the Head Scribe hoped that it didn't require a satellite under the control of the Enclave, if they still existed.

The new goal, as given directly from Elder Lyons, was to make contact with the BCSS Justice. All attempts to hail were met with the continuous tract of Morse code. No change. Elder Lyons had created a voice recording to open up negotiations that was playing on continuous loop. Still no response. The Brotherhood's, specifically Rothchild and Lyons', patience was waning thin. Rothchild was standing behind the main control desk as one of his scribes listened into calls and relayed information.

The Morse code could be heard on separate set of headphones from the rest of the council. One set of headphones was around Rothchild's neck as he kept on listening for any changes. Met with nothing and a growing frustration, the Head Scribe decided a lower rank would be better to monitor the change. There was still much to be done, and while having connections with other areas would be helpful, if the Columbia Commonwealth couldn't work together there would be little point. The young junior scribe was in the process of sitting down as Rothchild turned away from the communication unit.

_If only there was a way to connect the settlements together,_ he thought, his head swimming with ideas, _other than trade, though the caravans do a great job of connecting settlements_. Rothchild was nearly out of the room as he stared at the clipboard on the wall of all the sign ins and outs of the room. _Perhaps a test, like a standardized one to allow the settlements to gain direct military protection from the Brotherhood_, the old scribe pondered as he opened the door, _or a document of confedera...A TEST that's it!_ Rothchild turned around quickly and pushed the young scribe to the side. He listened again and tried his best at Morse code.

The junior scribe stood up slowly and looked clueless at Rothchild, the old man turned to him, "go to Arlington Library or the Alexandria and get me Scribe Yearling."

"What shall I tell Scribe Yearling," asked the junior scribe.

"Tell her to bring a Morse code dictionary," answered Rothchild as he started to draft a message on paper in pencil, _it has been a test a test to see if we're advanced enough by using historical telecommunications, ingenious really, truly and utterly ingenious_, "we're going to need to set up a telegraph. Go get her, now!"

"Colin Moriarty Junior, front and center," ordered Warden Ashkelon as he stood in front of the general population cells.

The inhabitants shifted around, the name Moriarty did not curry favor with any of them because he or his employees had incarcerated them. J.R. sighed and began to stand up, Susie Mack stared at him her mouth opened wide as she realized why he got up. J.R. made his way to the front of the cell right next to the cell door. He felt the eyes of all those men and women burning with hatred in the back of his head. The stocky warden in the front of the jail cell nodded to two guards, one that opened the cell door and another that took J.R. and forced his hands behind his back.

"What is this, Ashkelon," asked J.R. as he was gruffly pushed forward.

"That's Warden to you," the stocky man was enjoying the power he had over his boss' son, "and I'm going to make you the deal of a lifetime, kid."

"What makes you think I'll take any deal you offer," snapped J.R. as the guards led him up to the Warden's office through the back stairs.

The guard sat J.R. down as Ashkelon sat down behind a metal desk. The warden waved his hand and the guards disappeared behind the door closing it behind them. Ashkelon rubbed his stubbed jawline as he shifted papers along his desk. He had not answered J.R.'s question yet, letting time and silence make the pause more dramatic. With his thoughts collected, Ashkelon stood up from behind the counter.

"I'm going to offer a deal to you because it'll be mutually beneficial," said the Warden, "I'm going to release you and your friends, Moriarty made clear to do that. He was looking for a way to get information from you and your friends, this presented him with the opportunity. Frankly, I don't care what group you work for, just as long as you can work for me."

"What's your stake in all of this," asked J.R., confused as to why Askelon was telling him so much information.

"I'm going to offer you a position," said Ashkelon, "a position for change. Myself and a few others do not like how things are operating. Moriarty has been too soft on the Vault Dwellers, and he doesn't see the full potential of Springvale…"

"And you think you can change that," J.R. smiled as he said that, "now what makes you think you can talk to me about this, I am his son…"

"I can see how you feel about your father in your eyes, kid," answered the warden as he sat on the corner of his desk, "you try to hide it well, but you can't fool us all. You hate your father and I'm going to give you a chance to act on that. I'm not about to reveal everything, but once you agree I'll hold you to it."

J.R. looked at the floor between his feet, "how is this beneficial for me?"

"Besides to take your father down a peg," offered Ashkelon with a smile, "what ever information your friends tell me will stay with me. Information can be very valuable these days. If you're looking for caps, I'm sure we can make arrangements."

J.R. bit his bottom lip and looked up to the warden, "do you have a smoke?"

The warden smiled larger and passed J.R. a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, "I take it this means we can be in business…"

Elder Lyons was sitting in an apartment with Scribe Jameson, Star Paladin Bael, and two of the guards from outside. Lyons, Jameson, and Bael stood as the door to the sitting room opened as a middle aged white man with messy hair, button down shirt with rolled up sleeves, and dingy pants. There was another man behind him wearing similar clothing but had a darker tan, wore a vest, and needed glasses to see. The man with the messy hair offered his hand to Elder Lyons.

"Mayor Fleet, just Henry if you prefer, it's a pleasure Elder Lyons," he greeted them and shook the hands of Bael and Jameson, "this is my assistant, Tom Notley, what can my wonderful city do for the Brotherhood of Steel?"

Lyons smiled benignly began to talk calmly, "Mayor Fleet, Henry, I am here today along with several of my people and those accused of major crimes for a trial. We want a fair trail and we want it to occur here."

"Why not hold one of your tribunals," offered Henry Fleet as his assistant began to write everything they were saying down.

"The Brotherhood wants to show its support of Grayditch," answered Elder Lyons, "we want to help make Grayditch the shining example of law and order in the Columbia Commonwealth, the seat of justice. The first court in Grayditch, a shining light within the darkness, and we just want to make sure that fairness will occur."

"I'm sure I can come to a fair judgment on the accused," assured Mayor Henry Fleet with a wide Cheshire smile.

Elder Lyons raised his palm, his smile faltering, "you're offer is generous Mayor Fleet, but your duties as Mayor will divert your attention from these cases. However, if a vote was given to the people to nominate three admirable individuals from the community would make this more credible."

Henry Fleet rubbed his chin in contemplation, "this plan sounds like it can be enacted with time. But we'll need to inform Grayditch exactly what is at stake here."

"I would be delighted to make a speech at the town center," began Elder Lyons, but this time it was Mayor Fleet that smiled while he shook his head.

"You can certainly stand up there with me, Elder Lyons," said the Mayor of Grayditch, "but just remember that Grayditch is not Citadel City, it is Grayditch. I'll appreciate your assistance, but this a Grayditch matter."

"Well said Mayor Fleet," commented his assistant, Notley, Bael stared daggers at the man causing him to shut his mouth.

"I understand your sentiments, Henry," agreed Elder Lyons, "and I'll agree to the terms of the presentation of this court system on the condition that my people plan it fully, Scribe Jameson will be more then able to set it up."

"Allow me to have several of my people work on it and I'll be more than willing to meet your conditions," returned Fleet.

"Who do you have in mind?" Lyons was curious to see where this was going.

"I'd like Notley to take point of this," the assistant nodded as he looked down to write a smile spread across his face.

"We look forward to working with assistant mayor Notley," answered Elder Lyons, "but my Knights will be in charge of security."

"I can make that concision," agreed Fleet, "wouldn't want the people of Grayditch to form a lynch mob."

"Or set the other one free," grumbled Bael just loud enough for Jameson to hear.

"I think it is time to prepare for this presentation," Mayor Fleet said as Notley followed him, "would you like to join us, Elder Lyons?"

"I would be honored, would Scribe Jameson be welcomed?" He smiled at the Scribe that had been by his side for over twenty years.

"She is welcome, as well," Fleet smiled and beckoned them into his privet chambers to draft the preparations for the judicial selection.

Elder Lyons leaned over to Bael's ear and whispered, "make certain the accused are safe and secure and that no one attempts to free them."

"Aye, Sir," answered Bael, as he moved to walk out the apartment as the guards followed him, he turned around, "I don't need an escort to my men."

"Procedure, sir," answered one of the guards.

"You boys are big on procedure," he answered thinking to himself, _well ain't that the pot calling the kettle black_.


	11. Brave New Wasteland

The Lighthouse Perspective

Chapter 11: Brave New Wasteland

Hannah Newton awoke slowly, the fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling caused her to squint. Shielding her eyes she swung her legs off the gurney, the cool floor chilled her bare feet. Sawbones, the Mr. Gutsy unit converted for medical treatment, hovered nearby and turned to her. She didn't remember being brought into the medical wing or the treatment of the wound to her hip. The med-x given to in the vertibird had knocked her out, but clearly this was where she was located. Newton checked behind her and released her backside was bare for the world to see, apparently the Brotherhood deemed it necessary to strip her.

"Operative Newton, return to your bed soldier," barked Sawbones as it motioned two of it's arms to block any motion than back to the gurney, "orders from Sentinel Lyons."

"I order you to get out of my way," said Newton as she made to push forward but Sawbones did not budge.

"Orders from Operatives does not supersede orders from Sentinel Lyons," the computerized medic answered, "return to your gurney or this unit will use force."

Newton gulped and sat down on the gurney, her bare backside was against the linen, "can you answer some questions for me Sawbones."

"Affirmative," replied the machine as it kept one of it's 'eyes' focused on the Operative.

"How bad was I wounded," she asked, the tenderness in her hip was felt when she took her first step.

"Extensive epidermis, muscular, and nerve damage occurred from the laser bolt," rattled the machine, "secondary damages occurred from continued motion, armor weight, and concussive force from detonation of explosives. Complication arose in surgery requiring partial restructuring of hip bone."

"What do you mean partial restructuring," asked Hannah as she rubbed her hip, felt the padded bandage underneath, and looked at the machine.

"Steel based alloy of medical quality was grafted to remaining bone structure of Operative Hannah Newton," Sawbones showed no emotion, the subroutines had been rerouted by the Lone Wanderer and Paladin Glade, "damaged section of hip was removed. It is recommended by medical protocol that Operative Hannah Newton remain on sick leave for one week, barring complications."

"What complication can occur," Hannah was now worried about her wound.

"Sepsis, bacterial skin infection, gangrene," the machine was rattling again.

Newton raised her hand, "stop, just stop."

"This unit will comply," answered Sawbones affirmatively.

"What are your standing orders," Newton was curious what else Sentinel Lyons wanted of her.

"Primary operating orders are, one, the defense of members from the Brotherhood of Steel," Sawbones began listing the orders that were hardwired into its programming, "two, the defense of the Citadel; three, the medical treatment of members of the Brotherhood of Steel and those designated by senior members; four, insuring the well being of all those giving medical care..."

Newton rolled her eyes, "Sawbones, what are your orders from Sentinel Lyons?"

"To ensure the safety of Operative Newton, even from herself," replied Sawbones mechanically, "and to await further orders from Sentinel Lyons."

"Great," Newton sighed to herself as she swung her legs on to the gurney, she tried to relax but all she could feel was being in a constant state of tension.

The dust had yet to settle in the underground tunnels at Friendship Heights, the three Brotherhood members combed through the remaining opened chamber till they were halted at the entrance to the metro tunnels. The air filtration units allowed Schieber, LaCroix, and Kodiak the ability to breathe unpolluted air without harming their lungs. Visibility on the other hand was not more than five feet in front of their visors and the in helmet communication units were more than necessary. The held onto their weapons tightly, not knowing if the explosion had forced several ghouls into the main chamber.

Kodiak spoke into the comm system, "watch your footing, there is a lot of loose rubble around," his voice was young, like that of the Operatives, a testament to his prowess on the field of combat to be in Lyons' Pride.

"Aye, Sir," replied the Operatives as they combed the ruins.

"By this map, this door way will lead to the maintenance tunnel system that goes to GNR," Paladin Kodiak commented as he pointed to doorway that had a lot of concrete and rebar in front of the door, "we'll need clear it and reinforce the door way, see the cracks above it?"

Schieber moved closer and wiped his visor clean from the particles clinging to it, he could just make out the series of cracks above the closed door, "looks like the load bearing supports are under stress."

"Good eye," said Kodiak as he patted Schieber on the shoulder, "we'll get some jousts in there, make sure there is a route opened to GNR."

There was a bought of coughing on the line, Schieber turned to LaCroix, "is your air filtration alright?"

"Yea, it's fine," replied Anna LaCroix, "I thought it was one of you two."

"Wasn't me," said Kodiak as he turned to the other two.

"I know I didn't cough," answered Schieber as he tilted his head, "Anna...do you think that..."

"I don't want to get my hopes up, Quin," she answered as he moved closer to her, his hand on her shoulder.

"What are you two on about," said Kodiak as his helmet turned from Schieber to LaCroix.

The smile on Quin Shieber's voice could be heard in the communication units, "he's alive, Anna, he has to be alive."

"Who's alive," asked Kodiak as he shrugged his shoulders under his power armor.

"BAN!" Yelled Schieber into his comm unit, "KNIGHT BAN! BAN! If you are on this line, please respond!"

Schieber held his hand to his helmet pressing the earpiece closer to his ear. He walked away from the other two and around the large rubble piles at the metro tunnels. Pacing and yelling into the communication unit. Kodiak moved closer to LaCroix and offered his hand out to point where Schieber was pacing. LaCroix nodded and put her hand to her helmet and began to request Knight Ban, though not as loudly as Schieber.

Knight Ban was breathing heavy from all the work he was doing to remove the rubble. He had gotten a good three meters deep cleared. Ban knew it wasn't enough and that his energy was faltering. The adrenaline coursing through his veins was beginning to subside and the real pain from his wounds began to effect his work. He couldn't pick up the larger pieces of rubble, just roll them down and let gravity help. The dust was getting thicker in the air, which was not helping the injured and trapped Brotherhood Knight.

Ban coughed loudly as he tried to move a heavy piece of concrete down and let it rolled. The light from the head lamp of his helmet was showing the different particles in the air. He kept moving, forcing himself to work his way out. No sleep, no food, no water, and now the air was becoming thick with dust and allergens. Knight Michael Ban couldn't help but cough as he worked, his chest heaved as he kept working. _Saint Jude preserve me,_ Ban kept working harder and harder, wasting energy he didn't have, _give me hope, give me strength_, he thought as he kept working hard.

Coughing, moving, his blood pumping so hard that it was all he hear in his head. Ban's thoughts were becoming jumbled as he kept moving. _Need to clear rocks, need to get out_, his mind was set on one thing and one thing only. Between coughs and heavy breathing, Knight Michael Ban was loosing himself. Trapped, he truly felt trapped in the section of metro tunnel. Hopelessness pervaded Ban's mind for the first time.

Pain, hopelessness, weakness, and fear filled Knight Michael Ban. He was on the verge of giving up, for the first time in his life. Even after the march from the State of Maxson through the Core Region, the Scourge of the Pitt and establishment of the Citadel, Ban had never felt so helpless. He sat down, sliding backwards against tunnel. His head in his hands as he continued to heave and cough.

Ban began to cry, breaking down, in what he thought would become his grave. Spittle sticking to his hands and nose. The sobbing slowly stopped and gave way to coughing as Ban tried to breathe again. Slowing down, sighing as he tried to suck in as much oxygen as possible. The pounding in his ears stopped as he whipped his tears away and regained the air in his lungs. Ban oddly felt better as he resigned himself to the hopelessness of his situation.

From the corner of his ear heard something faint but constant. It sounded like small voices. _I'm going crazy_, he thought as sickening smile plastered his face. Ban stood up gingerly, not putting pressure on his injured leg. His ears perked as he heard the voices still, but the general direction was coming from his helmet. He rushed towards it, falling on some rubble. Ban scrambled on the ground and made his way to the helmet as he heard voices from it.

The smile on his face became genuine. _Blessed be the Lord, Saint Jude, thank you_, though Michael Ban as he let out a small laugh over the communication unit. The shouting on the other end stopped. One of them yelled to another an 'I told you so' as Ban just laughed softly. He wiped the spittle, tears, and drool on his gloved hand against the rubble.

"You don't know how good it is to hear you," said Knight Ban into the communication unit.

"Ban, is that you," asked the familiar voice of Schieber.

"Affirmative, Mr. Drayden," said Ban confirming to Schieber that is was him as he referenced his hometown.

"Jesus' Spirit," exclaimed the Operative, "we thought you were a goner after the explosion."

"Still here," confirmed Ban with a wide smile that could be heard in his voice, "wounded but still going."

"Knight Ban, this is Paladin Kodiak of Lyons' Pride, it is great to hear from you," Greg Bear said into his comm unit, "what's your situation?"

"Good to know the Pride has my back," answered Ban as he sat up straighter in his tunnel, "the situation Paladin Kodiak is that I'm trapped in a tunnel. I've removed a good amount of the rubble, but I don't see any sign of exit. I have no food, no water, my leg and arm have a hole in each...in other words, the situation is bad."

"Understood, Knight Ban," Kodiak confirmed on the comms, "can you tell us anything about your location?"

"None sir, I was heading west in the tunnels but the explosion threw me and knocked me out," Ban was reminded of how horrible his situation was, "I just don't know."

"It's okay, just take your time, do you think you can do some light work to continue to extract yourself?" Kodiak was thinking fast on his feet.

"What are you plans, Paladin?" Ban was getting nervous.

"We have some ordinance with us, we'll do controlled bursts to remove debris. You can then tell us which sounds closer," Kodiak knew finding Ban was important.

"I don't think that's a wise idea," answered Ban as he inhaled deeply, "the tunnel I am in doesn't look structurally sound."

"Shit," breathed out Kodiak, "do you think you can dig out more and knock on the debris?"

"That I can do," answered Ban as he stood up and walked over to the hole in the debris he made.

"Good," replied Kodiak as he turned to the Operatives, "LaCroix, I want you to get up there and get all the members of Lyons' Pride there and some able body men down here, we need to move some rock."

"I'll get some spare wood for joists as well," she answered as she moved to the exit at Friendship Heights.

"What can I do," asked Schieber, eager to find Ban now that he knew the man was alive.

"Listen and if you hear anything report it to me," the Paladin answered.

Operatives Daniel Roe, Zachary Zimm, and Scribe Actaeon were sitting in the jail cell. They wondered what to tell the warden when he returned. Roe thought that the truth would be the best thing to tell, considering all the lies they had been telling were starting to catch up with them. Harden Simms and the Stahls made that notion abundantly clear. Zimm on the other thought the truth would just put them in more trouble than their present circumstance.

Actaeon didn't know where he stood. He was not a member of the Intelligence service, but it was certain that he was being grouped with them. Therefore, this decision was vital to him. It was vital to the hunt that he remove himself from this cell. The Operatives were split in their decision, and he decided to inject his opinion.

"I say we lie," stated Actaeon firmly as he stood up and looked down the hallway.

"Who says we follow you," questioned Roe.

"Calm yourself, I'm not looking to infringe on your place," growled out Actaeon, his nerves wearing thin as he felt his prey slipping through his fingers.

"He's right, Dan," Zimm picked up Actaeon's argument.

"I'm through with lying," answered Roe firmly, "I've done way to much of that."

"Then let me handle it," answered Actaeon firmly, "because the best lies are always based on part truths. Granted, I don't know as much as you two do, but just give me something to work on."

"Well, we know that Mister Burke killed Lucas Simms," answered Zimm as Roe squinted at him, "and that Simms gave reports to a Sonora Curz..."

"Senora Sonora, always seems to get involved somehow," commented Actaeon with a small smile.

"You know, um, her?" Asked Roe in disbelief.

"No, not personally," he answered as he turned around, letting his head rest against the cool cell bars, "but most of us in the Brotherhood have heard about her organization. She heads the Regulators, a collective of bounty hunters. They were well established in the Capital Wasteland before us, Sonora Cruz is the head of the organization since her father died in 2262."

"Bounty Hunters, Lucas Simms was a bounty hunter?" It seemed too simplistic for Roe to accept, _every called him a man of honor but he was just there for a pay check, does not jive_, he thought.

"You're from Canterbury Commons, the Roes' are well known," Actaeon said, answering the question before Roe could ask it, "and the Regulators never stopped by your town?"

"Dominic and Machete handle things around town very well," replied Dan.

"Consider yourself lucky," Actaeon loved that his experience gave him more knowledge and an edge over these reformed wastelanders.

"How does this help us," asked Zimm, trying to bring the issue back to the present.

"You're original lie, we modify it based on some truth," answered Actaeon, "basically we say that Sonora Cruz hired us because the raider deputies would hinder those in the brown dusters."

"Sounds like a good idea," answered Zach with a nod.

"You tell this lie," Daniel Roe didn't think it would be a great idea but he rather the scribe tell it than him, "and I'll back you up."

"Good to know you have my back," sneered Actaeon as he turned back to the hallway, awaiting the warden.

"These lies are just making our mission harder," commented Roe, "my regret has been how often I do it."

Always trying to get the last word, Actaeon added, "my regret is how bad you are at lying."

John Harkness, Knight Captain Galeas, and Knight Bors were still at the Alexandria. Dinner was being served by one of the servants. Everyone, except for Kimi Mahal who preferred to eat alone than with the Brotherhood of Steel, sat around the table to eat a simple meal. Harkness had told the Knights that their home and office were in a great situation. The servants were something new to Harkness, especially the one male servant that introduced himself as Elias.

"So if I am to understand properly, because this is your home you'd rather work, help and protect than move to another township or settlement," asked Harkness as he stirred the stew with his fork.

"More or less," answered Elias with a benign smile, "we are people of peace, do not confuse that with passivity. We will always protect what is ours. The only difference is that we have elected to change our boundaries."

"Slaves by choice," commented Harkness as he tucked his upper lip under his lower lip.

"Not quite," answered Galeas before she took a mouthful of the stew.

"Agreed," said Elias as he tipped his water to the Knight Captain, "we think of ourselves as caretakers or keepers of the Alexandria. It has always been ours and shall remain so, ana fahim."

"Not all of us agree," said one of the young servant girls, the one that Bael had scared earlier.

Elias looked at her with disapproval on his face, as Galeas perked up, "what was that, dear?" She asked with an attempt of sweetness in her voice.

"I...mean...the comatose woman...she doesn't...feel much of anything," the young servant guarded her words, though Elias knew she implicated Kimi and if her hate could grow in the others than surely he should not underestimate her.

"Alas, I pray for her recovery," Elias calmly replied, "but I do not receive answers."

"Perhaps I can assist," answered John Harkness as he thought about his sensors to pick up any damage.

"Security force, escort, pool shark and a doctor now?" Asked Bors with a chuckle.

"Nothing major, just enough to fix cuts and bruises," lied Harkness with a smile.

"It's more psychological than physical," answered Elias, "but thank you for offering."

"I figured that as long as I'm a captive here, I'll help as much as I can," offered Harkness with a sad smile.

"You're more of a guest than a captive," said Galeas.

"Do all members of the Brotherhood of Steel have deceivingly different words for their treatment of wastelanders?" Harkness was curious.

"Your question is biased in such a way that any answer would be self incriminating to actions of the whole Brotherhood, specifically ones that have not been shown to you, or the citizens of the Columbia Commonwealth," Knight Captain Galeas answered politically.

"I think you just did," said Harkness as he raised his glass of water in mock respect.

Star Paladin Bael entered a destroyed building that must have been a bank, jail, or holding area of some kind because there were several hip high safes, larger vaults, and wrought iron caged areas. The air tight holds of the vaults were not appropriate for prisoners, but proved a good place to hold the armory and lock it down quickly. The Grayditch guards were walking around, several sat at desks with their feet up and a wide brim hat covering their eyes to catch a nap. The Brotherhood Knights stood outside the wrought iron cell that held the three prisoners. Alvarado had been laid out on one of the rickety cots because he was still medicated. Lolli Pop was siting on the cot, his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees. The prisoner in rags just leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, a cheap smile on his face.

Bael sneered at the prisoner, upset his men had to be housed with the same low life. _Lyons and his fucking politics,_ he thought to himself in anger, _making examples when only force should be shown_. He nodded to his men and gave some quick words that just told them to continue what they were doing. Bael turned around as one of the guards passed him, the man had a purple or maroon sweater on with a leather vest and military ammo belt tied around his waist, and the Star Paladin grabbed his shoulder.

"Uh...what?" Stumbled the man not expecting to have a strong grip on his shoulder, he looked up at Bael with disdain, "get your claws off me, steel head."

Bael raised his right eyebrow, "where is your commanding officer?"

The guard scoffed and removed his shoulder from Bael brushing it off, "and I'm the commanding off..."

"Listen you little mole rat shit," whispered Star Paladin Bael softly enough for the guard to just hear, "if you could earn the respect needed for being a commanding officer I'd have given it to you. Point me in the right direction and you'll find yourself in a better position for the day, otherwise my boot is going to find a new resting place in your ass."

The guard scowled deeply at Bael just as an older man wearing a brown duster that was well worn, beat up, and patched in several places. The old man wore a wide brim hat like the other guards in the office that was made of the same tanned and treated brahmin leather. He was a little shorter and than the deputy and Bael, but his face held more character than either the Grayditch guard or Star Paladin Bael. His hair was longer curling out from under his hat in a mix of salt and pepper that matched his thick beard. His skin was weather beaten and tanned to leather like the duster and hate he wore, his dull grey eyes were unremarkable except for the crescent scar around his right eye. It extended down beneath his beard, hidden in the aged jungle and face.

"Do we have an issue, Jonas," the mans voice was as soft as a whisper and breathy.

"The steel head wanted to talk with you, Marshall," The guard said as he sidle away.

"Don't mind that boy, Jonas," said the old man, his mouth barely moving under his long beard, "all these boys are still new to the game. Come to my office."

"Barely a day and you already have an office," commented Bael in a snide comment.

Marshall opened the door and motioned Bael into the office, "I was here before the incidents that occurred, I was here before the incidents, and I was here before the Lone Wanderer cleared out the fire ants. I just provided a service when the time was right..."

The door was closed and Bael turned around, "bullshit! I am calling you out right now. That's a regulator duster you wear and I'm certain Sonora is pulling your strings some where. You might think you're helping these people, organizing them, instead you're impeding them like a cracked bolt in a rifle."

"Your metaphors can be used on your troops, I prefer straight talk," Marshall said as he sat down behind a desk, "I respect the Brotherhood and what you have done here in twenty years. Just remember who was here first before you and your people crossed over from the West. Now what can I do for you?"

"The regulators hardly control themselves, shooting up settlements to get their bounties, how can I believe you control these people," commented Bael, "I have men here and I need to know that this town and your guards will not attack them. We got enough troubles facing us that we don't need a stab in the back."

"Let's start this conversation over," answered Marshall as he tweaked the corner of his mustache with his left hand, "I'm Marshall Lawson, what is your name Paladin?"

"Name's do not matter, Marshall Lawson, just the security of my men and avoiding a full fledged fire fight in the middle of Grayditch," Cristiano Bael was point at the Grayditch regulator with his left index finger, "I don't want to see any more of my men die, nor do I want to see us needless kill people in this town."

"I think we can find agreement in that," answered Lawson as he pulled out a thinly rolled cigar and put in the corner of his mouth, he offered a second to Bael who shook his head, speaking as he lit a match and then the cigar, "you sure, not the stale tobacco you get here in the wasteland, it's grown and rolled in Drayden. Nice community there, close-knit, family. You'll find Grayditch is similar, though I doubt you've been near Drayden, unless you were on the Andrew's Air Force Base station. You're men will be protected, the last thing either you and I want is a war to erupt between this settlement and the Citadel."

"I can agree to that," confirmed Bael with a stone face expression.

"Your men will be the security of the prisoners, I'll make sure my boys understand," continued Lawson as he smoked his stogie, "I just hope you and your boys will remember that the Citadel doesn't own this town, nor did it ever."

"Without us, Grayditch would not be where it is today," replied Bael in consternation, "without us it was an empty lot of concrete and steel."

"You sped up a process that was already put in place years before," chided Lawson as he smoked, "the Brotherhood isn't the only force in the Capital Wasteland."

Bael decided it would be best to bite his tongue, knowing that most wastelanders didn't know the dual role he played as a member of the Brotherhood and the head of field operations for the Brotherhood Intelligence Operative Services. He nodded to acknowledge the words from Marshall Lawson and began to stand up. Lawson opened his desk draw and took out two glasses and a bottle of whiskey as he blew out smoke through his whiskers. The law of Grayditch motioned to the cups as he filled them both and passed one to Bael.

Holding the glass up so the amber liquid reflected in the light, Lawson toasted with the representation of the Brotherhood, "to our mutual understanding, may it be forever beneficial."

Bael held the glass up and put it back on the desk, sliding it to Lawson without taking a sip, "I don't drink when I'm on duty," and with that he walked out of the office as Lawson continued to blow smoke upwards as he drank the whiskey alone.

Sentinel Tristan had returned to the northern border where his special operations team had created an outpost at the train tunnel that led to the Pitt. Each of his Centurions wore a set of 'Dillo Wear, the combined armors that Scribe Bowditch had fabricated. Three of his squad members patrolled the outside, they had a combination of plasma rifles and heavy weapons. Perched above the tunnel in a makeshift alcove was the squad sniper, the scope was to their eye as they scanned the wastes for any hazards. Tristan walked passed the erected barricades re-purposed from the shacks and holding pen his men had put up. He opened the metal door and walked in.

The chain link fence had been broken down and served as trap to funnel would be attackers into a bottleneck. Tristan walked through the security measure, running his armored fingers across the chain link fence. The service entrance to the train tunnel proved to be a good headquarters for the northern operations because it was secure enough to prevent a direct attack and it's location underground gave a cool relief from harsh sun and weather of the radiated wasteland. The train tunnel itself served as a large open room. The hand cart that his team secured remained locked in position. Two more of his men were standing at a damp wall, moisture and water were seeping through the tunnel wall. Two sets of chains were also secured to this wall with the two slavers that were captured a few days ago hanging from it.

Bent forward, their arms pulled back above their heads with their legs unable to hold a footing on the floor, the prisoners dangled like cured meats. The moisture of the wall soaked their backs, their hair hung limply around their face and crown of their head. Even in the dim light, the bruises and cuts over their upper torsos, face and arms were apparent. A third member of the squad saw Tristan approaching and grabbed a folding metal chair to set up in front of the prisoners. Tristan held out his hands and the squad member passed him a clipboard, Tristan removed his helmet and began to read it in the dim light.

He read it over, line by line, before he turned his bald head up to slavers, "you have not said a thing since I have been away."

The prisoners mumbled incoherently, Tristan nodded to the squad member that hand him a chair punched downward in the face of the nearest slaver. The slaver jerked down, the chains cutting into his skin. Tristan shuffled in his chair.

"Let's try something easier, and you tell me your names," said Tristan as he twirled his pencil in his hand.

The prisoners again did not answer and Sentinel Tristan nodded. His Centurion moved over to the other prisoner and repeated the same downward punch into his face. A loud crack was heard and as the squad member moved away the open wound with a piece of white bone protruding from jaw was visible. The prisoner was whimpering with hot tears running down his face.

The Centurion turned to his squad leader, "Sentinel, I believe his jaw is broken."

"That is clear to see, Travis," answered Sentinel Tristan with a sick smile, "looks like he won't be telling us any more information anyway."

"How can you, you can't do this...you're supposed to be the good guys," garbled the other prisoner as he spat blood on the floor, "we don't even treat are stock like this!"

Tristan took no time in standing up and kicking the folding metal chair aside, he lounged forward and pulled the slaver's head back to the wall pinning it, "I don't need to make a profit from you, _slaver_," he hissed as he drew his plasma pistol and held it to the gut of his prisoner, "you're the worst this land has to offer for humanity."

"Go a head an kill me, murderer," whispered the prisoner, the bruise covering his left eye made it completely closed and the blue of his right eye was even more intensified, "we know what you did at Dickerson, murderer."

Sentinel Tristan let go of the prisoner, walking away with his plasma pistol in hand. His thoughts turned back to the dark night, the words from the prisoner haunting him. It may only have been a short time in the North, but the land and people changed him and his more daily. With only super mutants, deathclaws, and slavers as the local population, the Centurions saw more war hazards than most of the Brotherhood combined. There were only three bastions in all of the northern wasteland; Big Town and Arefu to the south near the Potomac, and the The Republic to the farther east. Then there was Paradise Falls, the only collection of humans in all of the north though they lacked any humanity as the main slave selling hub in the wasteland. Despicable people, despicable place, and Julian Tristan loved operating with a nigh free reign as Sentinel of his squad.

The time in the north can change a man, he may hide it, but it ultimately changed him; Tristan turned around and aimed the pistol to the prisoners knee and pulled the trigger. The plasma pinch hit the knee of the prisoner at an awkward angle and exploded the whole knee cap into a bright ball of green light and pink mist. The slaver screamed out, throwing his own head back as his sweaty and damp head shook as droplets went everywhere. The opened wound that was where the slaver's knee once was located began to pool with blood and bent back at an odd angle. All the nerves, tendons, ligaments, and muscles were exposed.

Sentinel Tristan holstered his pistol and reached down to the slaver's head and pulled back on his hair, "I won't kill you, like at Dickerson, I'll make sure you live through everything so we can pull all the information out of that head of yours," to stress his point, Julian Tristan pushed his index finger on the forehead of the slaver and turned it back and forth.

There was a lot of noise over the in-helmet communication units that one of the Centurions handed Tristan his helmet; as he put it on he heard his sniper in the middle of a report, "I've got three boogies, hundred yards out and closing in at three yards each minute. Visible light arms, melee weapons, light to no armor. Threat assessment minimal."

"Keep an eye on them Sparrow," ordered Tristan as he motioned for two of the men in the tunnel to follow leaving one behind, "defensive positions, put one in the chamber."

He walked out to see his three men outside with their weapons drawn. He motioned for them to rest and they all hunkered down and sat with their backs against the metal barricades. Sentinel Tristan took off his plasma rifle and sat on a rock that had been placed near the service door. Looking out to the wastes, Tristan leaned back against the cool wall as he spoke into his comm unit.

"Sparrow, at fifteen yards out, give them a warning shot," he ordered and sighed, "do not, I repeat, do not shoot them."

Assistant, or in another time Deputy Mayor, Thomas Notley was talking to the others gathered around the table. Most of them were sycophants to the newly appointed Mayor Henry Fleet, trying to gain power and prestige in the nascent regime. Scribes Jameson and Mendel were sitting with Elder Lyons as they watched the procedure for the conference go on. The main conversation was focused on the presentation to be made by Mayor Fleet. Considering the Brotherhood would have minimal representation for the opening ceremony, certainly no talking role and barely visible, it was a conversation they didn't need to be apart of.

Elder Lyons felt his age and wished to turn the conference into more progressive talks about the trial procedure, "Mr, Notley..."

"That's Assistant Notley, Elder Lyons," corrected the man as he adjusted his vest.

"Assistant Notley," corrected Owyn Lyons with a false benign smile, "I think we need to move on to pressing matters of the actual trial."

"This is as important to the actual trial, which we all know your men are guilty..." retorted Notley.

"I would like to remind you, _Assistant_ Notley that one of your townsmen was also arrested for the murder of one of my men who was in charged with protecting Grayditch," returned Lyons with enough anger in his voice to shut up the petty assistant, "and you're mayor wouldn't have this great press if it was not for this Brotherhood. The sooner we have out plans injected and out of the way, the sooner we can have this presentation."

"What are these ideas of yours…that you'd like us to take into consideration," finished Notley after a long pause.

"I was under the impression that your Mayor gave us full authority to plan the trial for out concessions," interjected Scribe Jameson, her ire getting the best of herself.

"You should watch your people," commented one of the sycophants at the conference table.

Elder Lyons rubbed the bridge of his nose, "Scribe Jameson is correct. The correction is yours to make, or we will no longer seek to host this event here."

"But the prisoners are in our custody," Notley had a smug smile on his face as he nodded to the others at the table that agreed with me.

"Again, you are mistaken, Mister Notley," Elder Lyons was becoming increasingly tired by this man, "Mayor Fleet made sure that security would fall into our jurisdiction; you are contradicting his terms which does not weigh for these proceedings. Forgive me I am old man not so prone to these forms of politics and egoism. My Scribes, Knights, prisoners and myself shall now leave this town."

Assistant Notley slammed his fist down on the conference table; it's over 200 year age made it flimsier than when it was in its prime, "you will not leave."

"You forget your place, Notley, you can not order me," Elder Lyons voice was stern and strong, his eyes fiery as he stared deep into eyes of the petty assistant.

"I…I…uh…I," spluttered Tom Notley.

"I believe the words you are looking for are, 'I'm sorry,'" said Scribe Jameson with a wiry smile.

"Uhm, yes, quite right," he answered as he removed a cloth to wipe his forehead.

"I want to hear the words, Mister Notley," the steel glare from Elder Lyons turned the assistant ten shades of gray.

"I…um, I'm sorry," answered Notley, looking down at the table his notes a skewed.

"Better, now we'll be able to continue," commented Elder Lyons, "however, the next sign of disrespect, disdain, or cross words you have me or my people will require us to leave with the prisoners."

One of the people around the table, an auburn haired woman in her late thirties was the first to comment, "Elder Lyons, please forgive Assistant Notley's previous comments. The importance of these trials are clear. For our town, it will make a much needed system of order which is needed as we grow. It will also help with our growth, bring in more individuals that this settlement needs while keeping out the elements that do not belong in peaceable society."

Elder Lyons also knew the underlying issue was the economic gains these trials, and projected executions, could bring, "the comments have been forgiven, but not forgotten, now can Scribe Jameson please impart the ideas of these trials and the role of the judiciary in Grayditch?"

The board members all nodded and looked to the Scribe with gray hair, Jameson tried to keep her composure but she was more used to working with books and terminals than with people, "oh, um. Yes, my…my, where to begin. Well, perhaps the foundation of law? Or the Rule of Law? Oh my, I'm terribly sorry, I didn't realize I would be put onto the spot like this... I wasn't really prepared to give such a presentation…."

Head Scribe Rothchild was sitting in the communication center known as Citadel Control. Scribe Yearling was with him, something relatively new for the logistical and strategic head of the Brotherhood Intelligence Operative Services. The relationship between the two of them, if one could call it a relationship, was tenuous at best because of the history the Yearlings and Rothchilds had for over three generations. Reginald knew the family feud, as petty as it was and as he kept it alive was going to end someday considering he made sure his family did not come out east to enjoy the relative safety of the west coast. The Yearlings had mad the journey and were survived by their daughter, but the feud would have three thousand miles between the scions of these families. To have the two of them in the same room in good spirits would never have crossed each others' mind.

The reason for their good spirit was by Rothchild figuring out that the coded message was just that, a coded message, and it was Yearling that was able to use the stack of information from the Arlington Library to decipher the code and reply in like. Morse Code was originally developed by Samuel F. B. Morse and Alfred Vail between 1836 and 1844 with the creation of a electromagnetic coil and receiver combined with a code of pulses that translated into letters and numbers. However, Morse and Vail's machine was more complicated than the magnetized coil, switch and receiver created by Yearling, lacking the paper and reader the two American inventors had developed. The code itself was easy to look up, and it was the genius of Yearling to tell the difference between the Morse and Vail code with the internationally recognized Gerke code. The difference between two clearly showed that the _BCSS Justice _was seeped in the history of the United States of America.

Yearling was thinking fast of the scenarios that could come of this meeting, the one true fact she knew was that the Commonwealth had advanced technology, something the Brotherhood needed and a possible alliance if the Enclave were able to rise again. Rothchild's concern centered around technology and the repair of Liberty Prime. The machine sat in his laboratory no where near complete since the announcement from Owyn Lyons that he would be succeeding him upon retirement or death. Every note, article, and terminal entry that the Elder had collected, recorded, or wrote in his tenure as leader of the Brotherhood of Steel on the east coast. He looked over at Yearling, his long seated hatred buried in the thanks he felt for assisting in bringing the third great step to the east coast Brotherhood.

There was a crackle over the radio as a rather breathy voice came on the radio, "Call sign: Citadel Control, this is the BCSS Justice; I repeat Call sign: Citadel Control, this is the BCSS Justice."

Rothchild looked over to Yearling and leaned forward to press the talk button on the radio, making sure the channel was open, "this is Citadel Control, reading you loud and clear BCSS Justice. You're speaking to Head Scribe Reginald Rothchild, Scribe Janice Yearling is listening in."

"Copy Citadel Control," answered the communication from BCSS Justice, "please hold a moment, Head Scribe Reginald Rothchild."

Rothchild nodded and Yearling slapped his arm and he depressed the talk button again, "copy that, BCSS Justice," answered Rothchild.

The two scribes waited around five minutes before the channel crackled again, "Head Scribe Rothchild, this is Communications Officer Bell, it's wikid good to hear someone else on the line."

Not used to some of the dialect, Rothchild did the best he could, "it's good to hear from you as well, Communications Officer Bell, the BCSS Justice has been of interest of us since we heard your broad cast."

"We apologize for the coded message, but we learned quickly as we crossed the Jersey Shore that not places are friendly," answered CO Bell as his sigh was heard over the speaker, "but hearing friendly and educated voices over the ignorant tribals are such a relief."

"How long have you been traveling from the Commonwealth, Bell," asked Rothchild as Yearling was taking notes.

"We left Providence Plantations a little over two years ago," answered CO Bell, "we crossed the Eastern Shore into the Chesapeake two months ago. The weather has not helped at all."

"What do you mean the weather didn't help," asked Rothchild as he looked over to Yearling.

"The bombs changed the sea patterns," began CO Bell, "currents have shifted and intensified, squalls have become common, this has made sea maps completely useless. We've need to hug the coast the whole time and anchor for weeks on end."

"We'll we're glad you stuck with it and made it," answered Rothchild, "in your message you said you needed a deep water port, how deep are you talking about?"

"We need a sounding of fifteen to twenty feet to give the draft of our smallest vessel enough room to dock in the Potomac," answered Bell.

"Wait, what about the the Justice," asked Rothchild in confusion.

Bell laughed over the speaker but stopped himself, "I apologize for that. The BCSS Justice would not be able to fit into the Potomac nor maneuver well."

"How big is the Justice," Yearling asked taking over the comm unit.

"Who is that, Head Scribe Rothchild?" Asked Bell over the speaker.

Yearling took charge, "I apologize for the interruption, my name is Scribe Yearling, I work with Head Scribe Rothchild."

"It seems my subordinate failed to mention that," answered Bell before he returned to the question, "the BCSS Justice is a Nimitz class aircraft carrier that was refurbished by Electric Boat Dynamics on Quonset Point, Providence Plantations."

Rothchild was reaching for the talk button but Yearling grabbed his hand, "don't touch that! They have a working Rivet City in striking distance of us. We were able to fight off the Enclave and steal their tech. What they have...what they have is an invasion force!"

"You don't know that, Yearling," answered Rothchild as the younger Scribe held his hands back from the talk button.

"They have more than one ship, this is news to us," answered Yearling as she stared down her superior, "Bell already admitted they open fought people on their way here...they might be rebelling this invasion force."

Over the radio there was a crackle, "Head Scribe Rothchild, Scribe Yearling, are you there? Hello?"

The warden's office was crowded, Ashkelon sat behind his desk as the three Operatives and the Scribe Actaeon stood in front of him. The warden looked to J.R. and the Brotherhood Operative nodded, he then turned his eyes to the others and rested his gaze on Roe. Dan squirmed under his gaze and gave a little jab in the ribs to Actaeon. The scribe straightened up before he opened his mouth.

"We've decided to tell you everything, Warden Ashkelon," he said with a curt nod as he put his hands behind his back.

"Hands where I can see them," commented the Warden as he limply twirled two fingers in Actaeon's direction.

The scribe complied and held his hands forward against his thighs, "we, my compatriots and I that is, are part of a covert mercenary band known as Alexandria. Our operations are classified, but standard, no suicide missions, one third and operation costs up front, final two thirds upon completion. Failure to pay leads to a forfeit of… contract."

The warden's eyes bore into Actaeon, "are you done feeding me shit? I've already got this information about Alexandria from your _compatriot_, Moriarty," lied Ashkelon, better through his experience, "however, that doesn't answer why you four are all here."

Actaeon continued, unfazed, "Sonora Cruz hired us, to find out why one of her men wasn't reporting in for a long time. Something that was uncommon for Lucas Simms."

For the first time in the conversation, Ashkelon looked surprised, "Sonora has wanted to shut down Moriarty for a long time, perhaps it is time for her and I to have similar goals. That of course would mean I would employ you four."

"We're not cheap," said J.R. snidely, "we don't operate for anything less than a thousand caps per man."

"That seems fair," Ashkelon agreed, "thousand caps each month for all four of you. Consider it a retainer, to be on my pay roll and work for my interests."

"What exactly would be your interests," asked Actaeon, not one to turn away caps.

Ashkelon opened a draw to his right and put four pouches containing a thousand caps each on the table, "I want to take control of Springvale from Moriarty."

Actaeon reached forward to grab the bags and tossed them to the Operatives, "we'll take the job..."

"On one condition," pushed J.R. as the other Operatives and Ashkelon all looked in shock, "you release the kids from Vault 101 and the doctor they were escorting."

Ashkelon put his hands on the desk tapping his fingers, "interesting proposition, that would certainly undermine Moriarty and his campaign against the vaulties. You can escort them back, all four of you should wait in out processing for the them."

The Operatives nodded and turned around to head out the door way. Roe grabbed J.R. by the elbow and whispered into his ear.

"What do you think we're doing," he asked squeezing J.R. elbow hard.

"We're going get Burke and save Megaton," answered J.R. as he pushed the pouch of caps into his pocket, "we both know we have to do something, and this is how we'll get it done."

"By putting a man like Ashkelon in power?" Pointed out Roe in disdain.

"Temporary solution to a long term problem," waved off J.R.

"I'm not really supporting this," Roe was upset by the back door dealings that J.R. had worked out with Ashkelon.

"Just take the money for a little while, donate it if you want," replied J.R. firmly, "my father's power needs to be checked on this front and it will help us get to Burke."

"I don't see how," lamented Dan as he rubbed the stubble on his face.

"When Megaton starts to lose profit, someone will come to investigate," J.R. smiled and clapped Roe on the shoulder, "until then, we now have a source of income to actually purchase ammo and supplies."

Roe thought it over as they were escorted to the open area near the main gates, he leaned over to Zimm away from the others, "I don't like the way this smells."

"Neither do I," agreed Zach but he rattled the pouch in his pocket, "feels nice to have some caps though. I'm thinking about checking out that whore house in town."

Scribe Actaeon leaned over to the two Operatives whispering, "make sure their clean before you do anything rash, or else you may wind up with one."

"You're disgusting," said Zimm as he shoved the man away.

"Just being honest," Actaeon held his hands up before he leaned back to Roe, "I still have the holotape. I'll make the delivery, just remember our deal. You get me information on Harkness."

Roe nodded and Actaeon turned to leave, the guard at the front gate handed over his weapons and ammo and as he tucked his French hood to cover his mouth and nose the scribe disappeared. Roe turned to the others, hearing Zimm as he jangled the caps in his pocket. J.R. was talking with a guard and signing papers on a clipboard as several people wearing blue jump suits and a very sickly looking doctor in a white lab coat. As they got closer and had their cuffs and chains removed, the doctor began to cough. He fell over and a woman with blonde hair helped him up, J.R. rushed to her other side and helped the doctor as well. She gave him a smile and he returned it as he hoisted the weight of the doctor who was holding his side.

Zimm leaned over to Roe, "I think things just got interesting," all Roe could do was nod his agreement.

The underground metro tunnel of Friendship Heights Settlement was crowded. All of the members left from Lyons Pride, except for Paladin Vargas, were lifting rubble away from the collapsed areas. The caravan driver with his pack brahmin was down in the tunnel as well. The brahmin was strapped with empty drum barrels that were filled with cement, rocks, and rusted steel. The caravan guard was had the goggles of his roving cap down to protect his eyes with cloth around his mouth and nose. There were around ten residents from the former raider camp helping to transport and move the rubble as well.

The Brotherhood members continued to talk with Ban, keeping his conversation going as they removed rubble looking for the hole he was stuck in. Ban, for the best of his ability, was talking back with the other members of Brotherhood. He was clearly in distress and suffering from exhaustion and possibly shock from his wounds. Ban continued to remove as many top stones from inside as he could. He kept on digging, more and more, slow and steady to not burn himself out. Knight Ban kept on digging and digging.

"I've got a breakthrough," yelled out Paladin Glade into the in helmet communication units.

Schieber and LaCroix rushed over to him, along with the other members of Lyons Pride. Vargas heard the commotion on his helmet and turned to the settlement leader he was talking with about the new defenses that needed to be designed. The quick conversation brought a sad smile to her face. Boadicea was glad to hear that the member of the Brotherhood that helped them defend the settlement was alive. But she also knew that neither of her men would be coming out of that hole in the ground alive.

Schieber was furiously tossing the rubble, cement and rock from the top of the pile that Glade was working at. The others were taking the debris and tossing it into the drums of the brahmin. The small hole began to open up more from the finger width to a whole hand. Ban was widening the hole on his side as well, trying to fit his hand through it. Schieber leaned forward to look down the hole, aiming his head lamp down it.

Through the blackness, Schieber's head lamp illuminated the working fingers of the entombed Knight. The Operative started to dig faster and faster, the hole became wide enough for his hand to move in. Quin Schieber pushed his armored hand through the hole stretching to feel the fingers of Ban. His middle finger brushed up and he could hear the Knight through his comm unit exclaim. Schieber pushed his hand forward and grasped onto Knight Ban's hand, palm to palm with their fingers wrapping around each other.

"I feel you, I feel you," exclaimed the Knight as his hope and faith was restored, _thank you Saint Jude, thank you, Lord_.

"We got you now, Ban," soothed Schieber over the comms, "we got you, brother."

John Harkness, former Rivet City Officer, was in the kitchen of the mess hall, helping to clean up from the meal. There was a servant he hadn't seen before drying the dishes and silverware as he passed them to her. She was short, compared to his height, with raven black hair and a dark tan. Attraction and sex was never something programmed into Harkness, he was made to be a hunter and his predatory nature also made him love to chase. As his neural pathways grew into full sentience, so to did his predatory nature increase to liking other forms of chasing. However, sex as an act was something that did allude him, though an upgrade from Pinkerton would make it possible.

He gave a soft smile out of the corner of his face to this servant. Her dark eyes caught his, a frown was on her lips. She pulled the silverware from his hands, drying it with a cloth with frustration. He took a sideways glance at her again, the soft smile still on his synthetic lips. In exasperation she slammed down the silverware and stared at him.

"What is it, why are you looking at me like that," she turned to him and drilled her index finger into his chest, "if you think you can get a poke, you have another coming, pal. I'll give you a new hole so you become the most popular raider toy in the wastes."

"Whoa, just, whoa," answered Harkness with a wider smile on his face, "while you are attractive, miss, that was not looking for at this time."

She slide her hand onto one of the knives, "then what is it?"

"I was wondering if you were one that disagreed with the other caretakers," replied Harkness as he went back to washing the dishes, "they didn't mention your name, but I could hear the hesitation in their voices."

"Very perceptive of you," she said, still holding onto the knife.

"Also, that knife won't protect you, it's only good for spreading butter," he said as he handed her a cleaned dish, "what is your name?"

"Kimi Mahal," she answered as she took the dish and began to dry it.

"It's pleasure, Miss Kimi Mahal," the sentient android said as he kept washing, "I'm John Harkness, are you a captive here as well?"

"Slave seems more of an appropriate," commented Kimi.

"Agreed," said Harkness with a nod as he handed over another plate, "so why not leave?"

"This is my home," she said as she patted the plate dry, "I could never leave my home, and I rather not set up in Grayditch with nothing. Wondering the wastes is dangerous, I could nick some weapons and ammo, but it's way too much of a gamble."

"I could protect you," answered Harkness as seriously as he could, putting the dishes and soap down to look at her.

Kimi batted her long eye lashes as she slide up close to him and put her left hand on Harkness' chest, "you'd do that for me?"

"You're unhappy here, and I want to get out," said Harkness as he put his hand to her waist and another on top of the hand on his chest.

Kimi tapped the steak knife she had between Harkness' legs causing him to sigh, "I think this one will do more than spread."

"Listen, I just want to get out of here," replied Harkness as he let go of her and stepped back a little, "and if you were unhappy as they might have suggested..."

"I'm unhappy at our situation, I'm unhappy at the atrocities we faced," ranted Kimi, edging the blade closer to his leg, "we were invaded, murdered, then cast out into the wastes to start anew or bend our heads in servitude. I don't want to leave, I want to destabilize these bastards."

"Then help me escape," offered Harkness in a last attempt, "the head guy gave orders for Galeas and Bors to keep an eye on me. If I escape it'll achieve what you want, slowly."

"I'll think about," she said as she removed the knife and went back to her corner.

"What would make the offer a deal," asked Harkness, just looking to get out of Alexandria.

After a long pensive moment, Kimi said, "take her with you."

"Her who," questioned the former Rivet City Officer.

"The comatose girl," the former raider said as she turned to face John Harkness, "she needs real medical care, despite what the others think, find a doctor for her."

"I was on my way to Megaton, before I was detained," answered Harkness, with a pensive thought he remembered meeting the doctor there in another life, "Doc Church is a fair man, he'll find out what's wrong."

"Come with me, we need to get her," said Kimi as she opened the back door of the kitchen and walked to the servant quarters.

"What about my weapons and personal belongings," asked Harkness.

"I'll get them for you," Kimi said calmly, "but we need to get you two to the front door first."

"You can still come with me, Kimi," he whispered into her ear from behind as he followed her down the hallway, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end.

"No, Mister John Harkness," she said as she lifted her head to the left making her neck longer, "this is my home."

In the jail cell at Grayditch, the Prisoner and the Operatives were all sitting in the cell. Alvarado was stirring in his cot, the drugs finally wearing off. Lolli Pop was lying back in his cot with his eyes in the crook of his elbow. The Prisoner was sitting with his legs crossed and back against the wall. He was humming a tune to himself off key, to the ire of Pop and the stirrings of Alvarado.

"Will you please cut it out," asked Pop with his eyes still in the crook of his elbow.

The Prisoner shrugged and stopped humming; he then began to whistle lowly, just loud enough for Pop to hear. The Operative sat up and stared down the Prisoner, who through his rags just looked back and smiled wide.

"Quit it you murderer," said Lolli Pop as he clenched his fists.

"Or what will you do?" Asked the Prisoner, his false smile flickering, "beat me like you did Lesko? You'll find I'll put up more of a fight than that egghead."

Pop's knuckles were getting whiter as he clenched harder, he breathed deeply, "you're not even worth it."

The Prisoner became noticeably agitated and stood up, "who are you to tell me I'm not worth anything tin can? I did something no average waster can do on their own!"

Alvarado stirred more and opened his eyes, Pop shifted from his cot to his colleague and looked back to the Prisoner, "you hid yourself in a crowd and then attacked a man before he could even move. You call that honor? Courage? Bravery? No, you don't posses those. Just a cold blooded murderer."

"Don't you judge me!" The Prisoner was standing up and moved into a fighting stance, "you attacked a man that was not trained in fighting! I took down a member of the Brotherhood of Steel! Single handily!"

Pop leveled his cold glare at him, "you killed a man that was protecting you in blind hatred."

"So did you," sneered the Prisoner.

The Knights heard the conversations but decided to not intercede. The Grayditch guards were also taking an interest as they watched the commotion. One of the guards approached the cell and tapped the butt of his rifle to the metal. The imprisoned men all looked up at the guard.

"Keep it down, now," ordered the guard, holding the butt of his rifle to the cell bar.

The Prisoner looked at Pop with an evil smile and lunged for gun. He got his grimy hands on stock of the gun as the guard began to pull it back. Pop stared with shocked eyes as he tried to grab the man in rags. The Knights opened the cell door quickly and began to rush in. The Prisoner's hands fumbled around the trigger guard, trying to find the trigger as the Knights' threw Pop off to get to the homicidal prisoner. His fingers found the trigger and jerked it back creating a large bang as the bullet spun out of the barrel and went through the Grayditch guard's upper arm. The Knights pulled the prisoner away and began to beat him with the stocks of their laser rifles to subdue him.

Lawson rushed out of his office when he heard the gunshot to find his guard Jonas on the floor with one of his guards applying pressure to the wound. One of his men approached him to tell him he already sent for Doctor Hopkins. Lawson looked into the cell and saw the Knights standing over with their rifles pointed to the prisoner in rags. A bloody grin was on his face that matched his eyes as he struggled under the Knights. Lawson pointed to the Brotherhood of Steel Knights.

"Subdue that man," he ordered before he turned to his men, "get me the Paladin in charge now!"

The Knight closest to the prisoner's head kicked him hard to knock him unconscious. Lawson looked over his shot deputy who was breathing heavily as his colleague prevented him from looking at the wound. Marshall Lawson took out his cigar and fumbled for a light, dropping his box of matches. Cursing under his breath he bent down, took of his hat off and wiped his brow as he picked up his matches to light his cigar. He had planned this too long, and now, more than ever, the progress that could be made was in jeopardy; _someone needs their ass chewed out for this_, he though as he rolled the cigar on his lips, _this job can be too taxing. _

Scribe Rothchild was in the comm room still talking with Communications Officer Bell as Yearling was ordered outside. She was upset that the Head Scribe was not heeding her warning. Rothchild had given her a task, one she did not want to take. Her objective was to gain more information and Rothchild was hindering her mission. Yearling chewed the side of her cheek and then proceeded to storm down the hallways. She kept on walking until she saw the Lyons Den had some occupants inside.

Sitting around a table was Sentinel Sarah Lyons, Knight Captains Colvin and Gallows with their helmets off as they shared silence and some of the local rot gut. Yearling looked in on them, Gallows she figured had already noticed and Colvin was looking up to her. Lyons turned around and greeted her with raised mug.

"Care for some whiskey," she asked as she took one of the overturned tin mugs and began to fill it without a response.

Yearling sipped the harsh liquor and apparently made a face that caused Colvin to laugh and Lyons to smile, "it's funny that you guys should be here..."

"Not really," smirked Colvin which caused Janice Yearling to cock her head to the side, "had to rescue one of your Operatives from Friendship Heights."

"I'll have to admit it, Scribe," began Sentinel Lyons as she took a sip of the whiskey, "you're team does seem to know how to handle a firefight."

_Too bad firefights are not all, or even part, of intelligence gathering_, thought the Scribe as she pensively took a sip from mug again, "thank you, Sentinel."

Lyons nodded and pulled the scribe into a chair near them, "so why has Rothchild locked himself in the communications office? Alone now, it seems."

Yearling took the time to effectively organize her thoughts, "well, we've made contact with that Commonwealth ship. And one of their ships are making arrangements to dock here in the Potomac."

"What do you mean 'one of their ships,'" questioned Lyons as Yearling silently celebrated in her head, "do you mean they have a whole fleet."

"We don't know," answered Yearling, feeding half-true information to continue to swing Lyons into her camp, "what we do know is that the_ Justice_ is an air craft carrier in the Chesapeake."

Gallows looked up, taking interest for the first time. Colvin rubbed the stubble on his jaw as he eyed Yearling up and down. He examined her like the information she was telling them. Lyons took a sip of whiskey, and sighed out loud.

"If it's not the Enclave," said Sentinel Lyons as she sipped again, "it'll be someone else."

"Let's hope they come in peace," said Colvin with a laugh, "and prepare for war."

Yearling raised an eyebrow to Colvin's comment as Sarah turned to Yearling, "what preparations are being made?"

"The wooden dock on the plaza needs to be converted to a larger dockside," answered Yearling, "and I'm going to need some help with this project."

"I wish we could help, Scribe," said Sentinel Lyons, "but we already have our marching orders, need to rendezvous at Friendship Heights."

"Understood, Sentinel," replied Yearling as she sniffed at the whiskey.

"You still have your Operative in sick bay," answered Colvin.

"That won't be enough, I'll spread the word to the Knights on patrol to help this," answered Lyons as she drained her mug, "Bowditch will also want a say I gather. C'mon Scribe, let's go."

Yearling put the mug down and pushed it away slowly as she followed. Colvin picked it up and dumped the remnants from Yearling's cup into his. Gallows made a clicking noise in his throat, that did not sound like anything as he turned his eyes to the other team sniper. Colvin just smiled and drank the rot gut whiskey.

Tristan was waiting for them as they approached the archway. He didn't raise his rifle as they were closer, but he could tell now exactly who it was that had made their way to him. Sparrow was in her nest, keeping an eye on the boogies as they approached, having already shot a round through the waist coat of the man in the lead. His feathered hat mad him look rather ridiculous, though distinct from the other two people in mercenary gear. The black skinned man, who two hundred years ago would be called an African American however without an America, nor news of Africa, approached Tristan with a smile.

"Good day, Brotherhood of Steel," he greeted, "I'm assuming introductions are not necessary."

Tristan did not say a word but nodded, the woman with a crew-cut next to the man in the red suit spoke up, "thanks for the warning, I'd like to return one to you."

Sentinel Tristan cocked his head to the insolent woman, Eulogy Jones held his arm out to Carolina Red to stop her, "I'm sorry for my associate, but you did put a sizable hole in my coat."

Tristan pointed upwards, "wasn't me, but thank you for the credit."

"An honest man," said Eulogy preparing for a sale, "and I like to deal honestly."

"Slavers don't know the meaning of the word honest," answered Tristan as he coughed a little, his air filtration a little overworked, "nor would the leader of the slavers and defamer of humanity know that word."

"Sir, I must say you bestow unfair titles on me," Eulogy could never let anything someone said rattle him personally, all he really cared about was money and insuring that money was made, "I'm just here because you have two members of my trading post."

"Slave farm, you mean," corrected Tristan.

"The Brotherhood always has different words for east coast items," retorted Eulogy, "perhaps it's just that west coast mentality you all have."

"You said there was business," continued Tristan.

"Well you have two members of my trading post and are blocking the main trading hub for labor on the east coast," answered Eulogy slowly, "I understand that the Brotherhood has made base here. I will not stop it, nor will I try to force my staff to sell laborers through to the Pitt."

"You wouldn't be able to anyways," commented Tristan.

"Likewise, starting an armed conflict between the Brotherhood and my trading post would not be good for business or longevity," said Eulogy in his verbose terms.

"Listen, Head Slaver," said Tristan as he stood up and held his plasma rifle, "I appreciate the civility you have shown. But this is a Brotherhood of Steel bass of operations. Likewise, all subjects found in the defense and operation of this base that are non Brotherhood personnel will be detained."

"If you do this, I would have no other options," answered Eulogy as his associates lifted their weapons up.

Tristan nodded and his man raised from behind the barricades with their guns at the ready. Sparrow, perched in her sniper nest focused her aim on the head of the leader from Paradise Falls. The plasma rifles and energy weapons were powered up and aimed level at the less protected slavers. Eulogy Jones' hand was on his scoped magnum that was still holstered to his hip. He looked at the Brotherhood squad and counted a total of six members outside. Eulogy smiled faintly.

"What's the word for this," he asked to no one in particular, "there has to be a special title for this...situation."

"It's called return to that hell known as Paradise Falls," answered Sentinel Tristan as he stepped forward, "or be put down here and now."

Eulogy looked to his men and knew that this fight could not be won and motioned to lower their weapons, "we'll take our leave, but trust me, I will get my men back."

The Centurions watched as the slavers returned to the wastes. They remained at the ready until Sparrow gave the all clear sign. Tristan recalled his men and gave them new guarding orders. He returned into the tunnel with two other men. The interrogation of the captured slavers began.

The new day was halfway through as noon sun was at it's height in the sky. There were several chairs set up and a podium. Elder Lyons was sitting next to Scribe of the Quills Jameson and man that looked to be in regulator clothes. Bael had been called in to oversee the prisoners personally since the incident the other day. The committee had put forward the plans for the trial and then they focused back on this ceremony. The crowd was sizable, though not everyone in the town had showed up. Mayor Fleet was talking onwards for over an hour from his podium.

"This town is on the precipice of greatness," said Henry Fleet from the podium in the best three-piece suit he could manage to put together, "we can forge a new world within this township. Forge a future for the greatness of humanity. We must look forward, yes, but also look upon the past for guidance. No great nation can exist without law. True law are the codes of conduct enforced by those that govern, it can no longer be the way of the gun and bullet. The way of independent and direct reprisal are over. We are a town in the midst of a rule of law..."

Elder Lyons turned his ear away from Fleet as he looked upwards in the sky. The sun shown with brightness that hid and appeared from behind cloud cover. The heat was getting to him now more than ever because of his old age. Owyn pulled a folded cloth from his robes and patted his head to clear the sweat away. _Five judges_, he thought to himself, _who will be chosen and voted in_. _The Mayor can not be, however his right-hand-man...what was his name...Notley can be a Judge. The town doctor, Hopkins, he can prove to be a useful unbiased opinion. Though his past certainly concerns me_, contemplated the Elder on the former Enclave doctor.

Lyons creaked his neck to the side, his neck throbbing a little, _the LaCroixs would be good as well, though only one could be a judge...which one would be better? I should recommend a list of people to Jameson_, he filed into his mind, _damn this heat. This year the heat is just unbearable_.

Scribe Jameson put a hand on the elbow of Elder Lyons, "are you okay sir?"

"It's just the heat," he replied dismissively with a smile though his complexion had worsen to a gaunt gray color.

_She worries for no reason_, he thought to himself as the throbbing in his neck began to travel to the side of his head, _the guy to my left would want to be a judge, Sonora wouldn't miss an opportunity like this one_. He looked up to the sky again, the brightness of the sun penetrated his eyes with whiteness and then a small pinhead of darkness. The pinhead of darkness grew larger and Elder Lyons took his eyes from the sky and looked at the crowd. The darkness grew in his vision as he felt his head tilting and swaying. Jameson was holding his elbow asking him something that he just tried to wave of dismissively again.

Then the darkness enveloped completely and Elder Lyons fell from his chair hitting the ground from his chair. Jameson rushed to his side and turned him over, but Lyons was unconscious before he hit the floor. Lawson got up from his chair and prevented people from rushing up to see the leader of the Brotherhood of Steel injured. Fleet turned around and his assistant began to pull him aside from the Elder, there was fear in his eyes like everyone in the crowd. Elder Lyons fell from his seat, the worse case scenario was, like the previous week, someone in the crowd had decided to assassinate the Elder.

The Grayditch guards swarmed around the podium and offered crowd protection from the Elder. Jameson turned the Elder on his back and was checking his pulse. Doctor Hopkins was in the crowd and rushed to the the podium. He pushed through the guards and leaned down at the head of Elder Lyons. Jameson updated him on the pulse and opened Elder Lyon's ancient eyes and used a small flashlight he saved from the Enclave to see if Owyn was responsive. The Elder's pupils did not follow the light, nor contract quickly, all Elder Lyons could see was darkness with his thoughts jumbled.

A/N: I apologize for the long absence from posting. I have been working on this chapter for a long time, which I hope is evident by it's length. This marks the end of Lighthouse Perspective and the beginning of a new novella. Thank you all for reading, reviewing, and supporting my writing efforts. All reviews, criticism, and complaints are welcome. Thank you all, once again.


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